


if the world was ending

by metronomin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Feelings, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Life Lessons, M/M, Pining, Self-Discovery, Self-Reflection, Slow Burn, apparently people cried reading this so expect that i guess hhhh, deep talks in general, deep talks while looking at the sky, soulmate au if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:40:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metronomin/pseuds/metronomin
Summary: “So you think that if you were in my shoes, you could just... build a forever in someone in 100 days.”The question hangs in the air between them for a moment, and Jaemin almost takes it back before Jeno’s gaze snaps directly back to meet his.“Of course.”---Alternatively, Jaemin and Jeno build a home in each other in 100 days.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 40
Kudos: 110
Collections: ’00 FIC FEST: ROUND ONE





	if the world was ending

Jaemin meets the mysterious stranger drunk at a bar days away from home, when the sky is still dark and time a slow current. He drinks to forget, but the wound is still fresh in his mind, the memory at the forefronts of his hazy consciousness.

The number 100 is etched on his wrist, a painful reminder that Jaemin is at the peak of his youth, and the rest of the journey is a sharp cliff that only goes down, down, down.

“Tell me your story,” The stranger says, looking Jaemin in the eye.

Jaemin knows that he shouldn’t trust this guy. He tells him anyway.

“I turned 20 a couple days ago. Checked my wrist and turns out I had 102 days left to live. Now, I have, what,” He checks his wrist, vision blurring, and laughs sardonically. “100 days? What a joke. Ran away from home, now I’m here,” Jaemin picks up the last cup in his line and shots the remaining alcohol, which burns a line of fire down his throat. He coughs. “Funny how life works out.”

The stranger stares at him with unreadable eyes so deep they are an abyss. Jaemin’s vision swirls with iridescent dots, but they pull him in like blackholes. Maybe it's the alcohol exaggerating everything, but their intensity steals Jaemin's breath from him.

“What is your name?”

Never give a stranger your real name. Jaemin’s mother’s warning from childhood rings in his head like a distant alarm.

“Jaemin. My name is Na Jaemin.”

“Ah.”

“This isn’t fair,” Jaemin slurs slightly. “What’s your story?”

The stranger is silent for a while before answering, as if weighing his options. “My name is Jeno. Lee Jeno.” He, _Jeno_ , finally ventures, sipping his beer thoughtfully. “I don’t have a family. I finished uni with a degree in vet science, and my job starts in around three months. For now, life is slow, but I’m trying my best.”

He doesn’t elaborate anymore. Jaemin doesn’t ask.

When the clock strikes 7am and the sky is a faint shade of lilac, the bartender kicks them out. Jeno, while quiet and mysterious, is a good listener and figures out through Jaemin’s rambling that he is quite homeless, and offers Jaemin a place to stay for the time being. They walk home together, and Jaemin figures they’ll pick up his car the next day. To his surprise, they don’t hook up; in fact, they don’t even touch. Jaemin crashes on Jeno’s couch with his bag discarded somewhere on the floor, and Jeno retires to his room.

Before Jaemin falls asleep, his mind wanders. His emotions, still building and simmering in the glass bottle in his heart, threatened to break free any time soon. But not now. Now is for late but new beginnings and letting go, for making memories only to forget them. Now is for pretense.

He falls asleep, and wakes up to the harsh afternoon sunlight and the hangover of a lifetime, mouth dry and eyes crusty with sleep. The couch does not smell like home: it smells like musk and lavender instead of the lemon-scented sheets of a home too small and perfect for death or misery. Nevertheless, he accepts the water and half-burnt eggs Jeno offers him.

He will not break. Not now.

(Not yet.)

* * *

The first few days Jaemin is at Jeno’s house, he is settled into a cold kind of calm. Jeno is a good roommate; doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t need small talk to fill the silence that Jaemin needs. They coexist peacefully. In the day, Jaemin completely fucks up Jeno’s Netflix recommendations and Jeno goes to his part-time job at the animal shelter. They eat dinner together, and that is where most of their conversation stems from.

Jaemin finds out that he is quite a long way from home: two days and a couple hundred miles away. In his impulsiveness and lack of direction, he’d driven to the far North; far from his home in the Southern suburbs. What separates him from his little village are numerous towns and villages and one enormous city centre. He also finds out that Jeno is allergic to fur but still goes to his job because of his love for anything with it. In return, Jeno learns about Jaemin’s guilty pleasure for Ariana Grande and chick flicks, and his entirely naked PUBG character, armed only with a hot pink gun.

It’s all small talk. They skirt around the topic of Jaemin’s incoming death date, around anything related to the life he left behind in a small town hours away.

The glass bottle in Jaemin cracks like this.

Somewhere along the line, Netflix becomes a chore. It becomes a burden to get off the couch, eat breakfast, brush his teeth. It feels like suddenly his entire body is made of lead, and no matter how much he eats, everything inside him is empty. He can’t be motivated to get off the couch: entrapped in his own sticky, warm body heat. Even when all is silent, he is screaming, screaming, screaming.

He thinks about the life he’s left behind: a loving family, the best friends in the world. He hadn’t checked his phone since he’d left, and his home had probably turned to turmoil. He imagines Renjun and Donghyuck showing up at his front doorstep that afternoon to go to the movies only to be met with his father’s white face and the sound of Mom’s crying. He imagines Renjun calling him several times only to be met with a dial tone and no response, Donghyuck in tears. He imagines Jisung, who’d always been too emotional, crying for nights on end.

They wouldn’t have reported him to the police; Jaemin had left a note, after all, that night. Tear-stained with shaky handwriting, it had included a warning not to look for him and an apology. The irony of it all brings him pain: when it mattered most, he’d left everyone with panic, grief, and a half-assed explanation.

But he couldn’t go back, not now. He wasn’t about to tell them the truth that he was dying: the town he’d grown up in was all warm yellow sunshine and multi-coloured ice cream cones, a pastel amusement park with an arcade that flashed neon lights. Too pretty for the dark ink spot that was Jaemin’s departure. And so he’d departed in the dead of night, before they could stop him. He’d celebrated his birthday three days late with Jeno, who had bought a small cake from the bakery. They’d sung a hushed birthday song, but it hadn’t been the same.

The thought pierces a hole in Jaemin’s heart. The glass bottle breaks.

Things deteriorate to the point where Jaemin, a habitual early riser, would wake in the late afternoon, sleeping off the sheer exhaustion that came with existing. Jeno would wake him in the mornings for breakfast, but after one or two forced mouthfuls, Jaemin would fall back into a fitful slumber. Jeno had taken to manually feeding Jaemin breakfast and dinner like a baby (seeing as more often than not, Jaemin skipped lunch). The pain of hunger in Jaemin’s stomach, at least, distracted him from his thoughts when he was awake.

One night, after a particularly bad day, Jaemin finds himself on the roof of Jeno’s apartment block. He himself doesn’t know how he dragged himself up there, but here he is, sitting on the ledge, staring into the dark sky and the houses below him.

Jaemin looks at the stars above him, multitudes of them that formed dizzyingly bright constellations. How he wished he could ascend to be among them; to soar between them and fathom their warmth.

To go up, they say, you must go down.

He stares at the gap between his legs, which dangle from the ledge. How easy it would be, he thinks, to just slip off this roof, end the pain once and for all. Stop the waiting, the suffering. Everyday, the number on his wrist continued to decrease and it was like Chinese water torture waiting for it to one day, drop to zero.

He inhales deeply, taking in the cold nighttime air. He considers it, _really_ considers it, and then--

“Thought I’d find you here.”

The voice comes from behind him, and Jaemin whips his head around. Behind him is Jeno, standing a few feet behind the ledge, hands in his pockets as he eyes Jaemin.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

Jeno knows that Jaemin knows what he’s talking about. There’s no need for pretense, but he humours him anyway.

“Jump. Are you going to?”

“Are you going to stop me?”

Jaemin’s response leaves Jeno speechless for a while, and Jaemin smirks slightly as Jeno searches the ground for an appropriate answer, or perhaps a witty comeback. Eventually, he finds what he needs, and he looks back up.

“Yes. I think I will.”

In that moment, Jeno walks forward and swings his legs over the ledge in one fluid motion, so fast that Jaemin is half-worried that Jeno has _actually_ jumped to his death. But Jeno, now looking at the stars with a soft smile, is perched on the ledge to Jaemin’s left.

“Aren’t the stars beautiful?”

Jaemin looks up. They are, but Jeno already knows that.

“Look, if you’re going to feed me some Rupi Kaur ass line about stars and existence and the meaning of life, I _will_ actually--”

“God, let me live. I kind of _don’t_ want someone’s death on my hands.”

They laugh, and then it is silent again. The wind whistles past their ears.

“What I wanted to say is-- well, look,” Jeno gestures at the sky. “There are so many stars in the sky. If we counted the ones we could see right now there’d be hundreds, but there are probably millions of others we can’t see. And they all look so close together, right? If one star died out right now, it’s likely that we wouldn’t notice, and the sky would continue being as bright and beautiful as it is.”

Jaemin let out a hum of approval.

“The truth is,” Jeno says, softer now. “These stars aren’t close together in the slightest. They’re actually millions and millions of miles apart. It’s a miracle that their light can even reach us at all, but that just shows how bright they are.”

“Nice. Where are you going with this?”

“Let me finish. In a way, while in the big picture it doesn’t matter if a star burns out, millions of miles will be shrouded in sudden darkness. Ash and dust and whatever floats in the space between will turn cold and bleak without the star’s warmth and light. While we don’t see it, whatever’s anywhere remotely close to the star that burnt out will be affected.

“Don’t you see? In the long run, it doesn’t matter if you don’t make a difference in something larger than life. If you go now, what do you gain? You’re a caring guy, and I bet whoever Renjun and Dohyuk are, they’d be devastated.”

Jaemin turns to face Jeno, mouth agape. “It’s Donghyuck. But hold on, what-- How did you--”

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Ah,” Jaemin swallows. If Jeno had heard about his friends, what other things could he have been murmuring about in his sleep?

“Anyway, if you died. I would be sad too. And not just me: that town you’re from; everyone in it would feel your death in tsunami waves. In a way, your not being there casts a shadow in itself. What do you gain from dying now anyway? Some sort of sick self-satisfaction because you beat the system? You have eighty something days left; not a long time, but make the best of it, for god’s sake. Don’t let so much potential to do things go to waste just like that.”

Jaemin sits there, stumped. The ground looks so far down now. The stars are still appealing, but he realises that getting there would mean a sacrifice he wasn’t actually ready to take. Not now.

“So, are you going to jump?”

Jaemin doesn’t answer. Jeno takes this as a yes, and he sighs. He makes to leave, probably poised to make a snippy comment, but Jaemin grabs his arm, not looking him in the eye. He doesn’t know why he does this: just knows he wants Jeno to be there with him.

“Stay. Watch the stars with me.”

One thing Jaemin likes about Jeno is that he doesn’t ask questions. Instead, he makes himself comfortable once more, and he sits beside Jaemin, eyes searching the sky. Jaemin catches himself staring at Jeno’s moonlight-illuminated face a few too many times as the night goes on; eyes bright, skin like porcelain. Their hands lie in the space between them, and something in Jaemin aches to hold Jeno’s hand.

He doesn’t.

That night, they stay on the ledge, and they end up collapsing on the floor of the rooftop where slumber overtakes them. However, for the first time in a while, Jaemin wakes as the sun is rising, and the two watch in wonder from their spot on the rooftop as the sky turns a thousand shades of warm.

(It reminds Jaemin of his home, awash in sun, but he pushes that thought away. Right now, the only place he wants to be is here.)

* * *

It gets better from there, but it doesn’t go away completely.

Jeno isn’t exaggerating when he says that Jaemin talks in his sleep. In fact, he fails to mention that Jaemin screams too: raw and full of anguish, like a man getting torn to shreds by a pack of wolves.

Every night, Jaemin wakes in a cold sweat from nightmares filled with the people of his own past. Donghyuck crumbling to ash, crows pecking at Renjun’s lifeless body. His family, his neighbours, friends, schoolmates: all of them dead. Their ghosts haunt him every night.

Ironic, Jaemin thinks, how he dreams of the death of others when he is the only one facing it.

One particularly bad night, it’s Mark Lee from the small ice cream shop near the park melting into cracks in the pavement, much like the ice cream he sells. Jaemin is arching off the sofa like a corpse in the Exorcist when he wakes. It is 3:55am, and he has 63 days left.

In all of his dreams, Jaemin is chained. Somehow, even though he thinks he’s freed himself, he is still anchored in his nightmares. He never sees what he’s chained to.

He reaches for the blanket just to hold on to something tangible only to realise it’s been kicked off the sofa onto the floor in a heap. Sweat drenching his shirt, his chest rises and falls with deep heaves. Swimming in his vision are dots the colours of sherbet: the pale yellow of lemon, the pastel pink of strawberry, except there is no sweetness on his tongue. Instead, nausea gurgles in the pit of his stomach. He feels sick, he feels _terrible_ , why doesn’t he just--

“Jaemin?”

It’s Jeno, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He has on those glasses he refuses to wear in public, in a white muscle tee and black shorts. Somehow, even in the dark, he looks perfect.

“Jeno, why are you up?”

“I heard you screaming. Wanted to see if you were okay,” Jeno yawns.

“No, no, go back to sleep. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

“Are you having nightmares?”

Jaemin knows that Jeno knows the answer. In the close to forty days they’ve spent together, they’d become connected in a way Jaemin never was with his friends back home, not even with Renjun or Donghyuck. Jeno had this innate intuition that seemed to understand how Jaemin felt and what he needed before Jaemin did, and acted accordingly.

Jaemin was grateful. Right now, in the dim room with Jeno half-asleep but still caring, Jaemin has never felt more grateful.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing. Go to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think you’re fine.”

“Drop it, okay? It’s just a nightmare. I’m not five, I can handle myself. You have work in the morning.”

“Yeah, but I’m up already. Would be a pity to just go back. Either way, I’m off tomorrow.”

Jeno makes to sit on the other side of the couch, and Jaemin folds his legs to make the space. Jeno looks absolutely precious like this: night-shirt rumpled, hair tousled, glasses perched on his nose so he looks like a tired owl. Jeno is too stubborn to go to sleep, and Jaemin is too taken with this image of Jeno to make him.

Jaemin sighs. “Alright. Fine. What do you want to do, then?”

Jeno mulls it over. “Hm. Didn’t you dance, back in high school?”

Yes, he did. Jaemin remembers telling Jeno about this one day in passing; one of the few things he’d said about his past. He’d been the leader of his high school dance team until he’d graduated, taking over Taeyong to win competitions both regional and national, bringing back golden smiles and trophies. High school was the best time of his life, until he’d gone into university: suddenly back to being a small fish in a sea.

Dancing had been his escape. Even though he didn’t do it as regularly anymore, he would do it in his leisure time; going to workshops and learning the occasional girl group dance from YouTube. Dancing was, _is_ his love. To say that he “just danced” was an understatement. He lived it, breathed it.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Then why don’t we just dance? Or, like, vibe, because I haven’t danced in years. I’ll put on some music—”

“Jeno, for fuck’s sake, it’s 4 in the morning, we’re gonna wake the neighbours—”

“Hold on,” Jeno presses. “Let me get my speaker.”

Jeno, now fully awake, bounds over the sofa into his room and returns with a small Bluetooth speaker roughly the size of Jaemin’s palm.

“...You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not, Na Jaemin. Get on your feet.”

“Jeno---”

“You asked what I wanted to do. Well, this is it. Vibe with me.”

Jeno’s speaker is blaring a song Jaemin vaguely recognises in the 4am haze as the new Stray Kids single, and Jeno is staring expectantly at Jaemin as he moves to the beat. Jaemin sighs, then stands up.

“Fine.”

He closes his eyes, lets the rhythm enter his heart and flow through his veins like it is part of him. The song has a strong bass, but it’s slow and wistful and the lyrics talk about wishing for a long gone era of age and childhood. It’s called 19.

How fitting.

He hasn’t danced in weeks, so his limbs feel rusty and out of place, but he moves them anyway. Some time after the song ends, and Jaemin opens his eyes to a slow, sensual song he doesn’t recognise, he realises Jeno is dancing.

As in, _dancing._ None of that “vibing” Jeno had waxed poetic about. Jeno is dancing, and he’s _good_.

As a dancer, Jaemin sees that Jeno had clearly never danced professionally. His technique is far from perfect, and it’s a bit too all over the place to win any first-place awards. But the sheer unpolished rawness of it, the emotion that flows through it knocks the breath out of Jaemin’s lungs.

His face. They tell ten thousand stories with a single expression. His glasses are still on, and though they’re slipping off with the sweat beading on Jeno’s nose, he’s no less beautiful. Jeno’s eyes are open, and instead of cowering in shyness as Jaemin expects him to, Jeno watches Jaemin watch him; his gaze magnetic, daring, pulling Jaemin closer. Jaemin begins to dance again, and it’s like two wolves circling each other, waiting for the other to pounce.

When the song ends, they are sweaty and they are staring at each other, their bodies within centimetres of each other. The playlist slows down to a ballad, and before Jaemin knows it, his hands are on Jeno’s hips, and Jeno’s hands are on his shoulders and they are swaying to the song. Their faces are close, _too_ close. Jaemin can practically feel Jeno’s breath, warm on his lips.

4am makes you daring.

Is Jeno even paying attention to the song at this point? Jaemin doesn’t know. All he knows is that he doesn’t care. He just wants to stay like this for a moment.

He realises that this is all they’ll get. Pockets of liminal time the world gives them that they can’t draw out lest they miss out on more. For as short as the length of a song, the world is perfect and whole and there’s only him and Jeno and nothing else. For a moment, he can pretend that this is real.

And then the song ends, and the fissures and cracks in the walls of Jaemin’s universe are visible again.

They break apart, breathing hard and sweating. Jaemin doesn’t know if it’s from the dancing or something else entirely. Silence covers the living room like a blanket.

“Are… are you going back to sleep?” Jeno asks.

“Yeah, I guess. Or maybe I’ll just watch YouTube videos until the sun rises, so I won’t wake you up with another nightmare. I’ll figure it out.”

“I mean… you could always sleep in my room.”

Jaemin raises his eyebrows, and he holds back a smirk when Jeno visibly colours even under the dim lighting.

“N-not that way! I mean… you know… when I was a kid, I would sleep in my parents’ room whenever I had a nightmare. Maybe sleeping with company would help, in this context.”

“Jeno, I’m not a child.”

“I’m just saying.”

Awkward pause.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me. Hope you’re feeling better.”

“I am. Thank you.”

“Good night. Or, well, good morning.”

“Yeah.”

Jaemin watches as Jeno retreats back to his room, speaker in hand. Is it just him, or are Jeno’s shoulders slumped? Whatever the case, Jaemin jumps back onto the sofa, lying down and picking up his phone. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright light, but eventually, after scrolling disinterestedly down his YouTube suggested, he turns off his phone and lies back down.

Sleep doesn’t come, and after five minutes, he opens his eyes again.

 _What if_ , a tiny voice inside him says. _What if you just… went to Jeno’s room? Would it be that weird?_

Jeno _had_ been the one to offer. And turning down invitations was rude, especially when they were beneficial to him. Never turn down help, Jaemin’s mother had told him firmly as a child.

Who is he to turn this down?

(Jaemin ignores, however, the slightly louder voice that asks whether maybe _he_ wants to be there.)

Grabbing his blanket, Jaemin shuffles over to Jeno’s door. Without knocking, he turns the door handle, and finds his way to the small bed in the corner of the room. Jeno’s breath has evened out, indicating that he’s already asleep.

There’s already a space next to him, Jaemin realises, as if Jeno had already known that he was going to come. Somehow, Jeno always knew. The sheets smell like a mix of Jeno’s lavender fabric softener and soap. It’s odd, but it brings a smile to Jaemin’s face.

Sleep comes easy. For the first time in a long while, Jaemin has no dreams.

(When he wakes, Jeno is snoring gently, leg thrown over Jaemin like a koala. Jaemin tries and fails to ignore the irregular palpitations of his heart.)

* * *

After that night, Jaemin doesn’t sleep in Jeno’s room again. The nightmares continue, and though less frequently, more often than not Jeno stars in them too: Jeno getting mowed over by an oil tanker, Jeno with knives buried into his chest, Jeno turning to dust.

Jaemin is well aware that if he just gets over himself and sleeps in Jeno’s room, the nightmares will be curbed, at least for the time being. But he has too much pride and too little nerve to ask such a thing: to let him take up space in Jeno’s already small bed, to let him snuggle into Jeno until his dreams subside. It wouldn’t be good for his conscience.

Meanwhile, they only get closer.

Jaemin can’t ignore the way his breath hitches when Jeno gets too close. He can’t ignore how soft Jeno looks when it’s just them on the weekends, hair messy in an oversized sweater. They’d dyed their hair together on impulse one weekend: Jaemin pastel pink and Jeno caramel brown, which had only added to Jeno’s angelic, innocent aura that made Jaemin want to scream into a pillow.

(Admittedly, Jaemin has actually done that.)

The truth is, Jaemin is scared. This cannot last, and there is no use pretending it can. There is no happy ending if he ends up falling for Jeno: just heartbreak, and the last two months of his life spent pining after someone so close yet so unattainable. One night after Jeno lays his head on Jaemin’s shoulder while watching a movie, he decides to label his feelings as temporary lapses in judgement-- and promptly locks them away in his chest, desperate to make them go away.

Desperate enough to try to fall for someone else.

It’s a chance meeting, really. There’s a cafe not even two minutes from Jeno’s apartment, and the two of them take turns to buy coffee every morning. Most of the time it’s Jeno, who goes in before work and drops off Jaemin’s Americano before leaving. But this time, it’s Jeno’s day off, and so Jaemin makes the trip to buy the coffees.

It’s quite a standard routine: queue, order, pay, collect, leave. Except this time, Jaemin is waiting to collect the coffees when all of a sudden, someone bumps into him, spilling hot coffee down the back of his sweater.

The background noise of someone speaking animatedly abruptly dies, replaced with a gasp and shocked silence. Jaemin whirls around. The man in question, who has bleached hair, a guilty expression on his face, and a currently empty flask of coffee in his left hand, still has his phone to his ear.

“Guanheng,” he says slowly into the phone, eyes still locked guiltily with Jaemin. “Don’t take this the wrong way, you know I love hearing about Dejun, but I’m _really_ going to need to call you back.”

With that, the man hangs up, and from his mouth bursts a waterfall of rushed apologies.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry, I was on the phone with my friend and I wasn’t paying attention-- Holy shit, that sweater looks expensive oh god oh fuck-- Do you want me to pay for your coffee I am so sorry-- I have some tissues give me a sec--”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jaemin says. “Calm down. It’s fine. It’s just a sweater.”

Facts are, the guy is cute, especially now that he’s fumbling with his words and the napkins in his hand, dabbing furiously at the growing coffee stain on Jaemin’s hoodie.

“Shit, I don’t think this is gonna work. Uhhh, is there any way I can repay you, I am _so_ sorry, my friend just got a new boyfriend and like you know how it is--”

“Dude. It’s okay. I can get the sweater cleaned no problem. I won’t say no to the free coffee, though.”

Ultimately, out of sheer apology, the man pays Jaemin back for both Jaemin _and_ Jeno’s coffees. It turns out his name is Yangyang, and he shares a large variety of interests with Jaemin. He is bubbly and handsome and has a very infectious smile, and by the time they’re done talking, Jaemin has his number and a promise to meet again. He arrives at the apartment smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

The moment he pushes open the door, Jeno looks up.

“What the fuck, Jaemin, you went out an hour ago. I was just about to go to the cafe to see whether you were alive. Also, why do you have a giant coffee stain on your sweater?”

“Long story short, cute guy spilt coffee down my hoodie, but now I have his number and we’re going out on Tuesday.”

Jaemin misses the way Jeno’s face falls.

“Oh? What’s his name?"

“Yangyang.”

“Wait, Liu Yangyang?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get his last name. Bleached hair, big smile?”

“That’s the one. He pops over to the shelter sometimes.”

“What do you think of him? Anything I should know? Is he a creep? A furry?”

“Um. None of those. He likes playing with the bunnies. Seems like a nice guy, I guess.”

“Ohmygod, he likes _bunnies._ ”

“Uh. Congrats?”

They don’t bring it up for the rest of the week, even though Jaemin notices Jeno’s sudden change in aura. He feels sadder now, more quiet and cordoned off, like a translucent door has been put up between the both of them where Jaemin can see that Jeno isn’t doing so well but can’t figure out why. He listens quietly when Jaemin talks about Yangyang, but doesn’t say anything. Jeno makes no effort to explain, and so Jaemin’s mind blames it on the fact that one of the cats in the shelter had to be put down.

(Part of him wonders if Jeno is jealous of Yangyang. Jaemin pointedly ignores this.)

On Tuesday, they go on their date. It goes successfully, even when they hold hands and Jaemin’s palm turns sweaty and he has to awkwardly wipe it off on his jeans, or when Yangyang chokes on his kimchi mid-meal. Yangyang is kind and bright and smiles a lot, seemingly always lit up from the inside.

Jaemin likes him, he thinks. But the closer you are to fire, no matter how it warms you, the more likely you’ll get burned.

They go on a few more dates after that. Yangyang learns that Jaemin is roommates with Jeno and launches into a fond spiel about the bunnies at the shelter (Berry, Cotton and Applebee), and Jaemin learns that Yangyang lived in Germany for a couple years and is thus semi-fluent in the language. He makes him demonstrate on their picnic date, and they share a light kiss underneath a tree.

The kiss feels wrong, for some reason. Jaemin feels no butterflies. There are no fireworks, no click or sudden epiphany of love. It doesn’t leave Jaemin wanting more, and that’s when he knows that his feelings are passing ephemerals. That in the end, it’s better if they’re friends.

That day, Jaemin gets around to telling Yangyang about his ultimatum. By then, Jaemin only has 34 days left. Just over a month. Yangyang, with his 18,600 day limit, takes it better than Jaemin expects. He still smiles, but there’s a different light shining behind it now.

It’s too picture perfect. Yangyang reminds Jaemin too much of the home that he left behind: so welcoming, so happy and blindingly bright. The familiarity of it all tears him apart. He can’t do this anymore, he decides one day, and ends it at the coffee shop where they met. It sucks, but it has to be done.

Again, Yangyang takes it better than Jaemin expects. He’s disappointed, but he understands, and they agree to stay friends. Jaemin pretends not to notice the tears Yangyang is holding back, or when Yangyang leaves with his hands in his pockets, head down.

 _When will you stop pretending?_ , he asks himself. There is no answer.

Jeno is the first to hear about this. Even upon Jaemin’s refusal, Jeno takes him out for ice cream at the park anyway. Jaemin gets a cookies and cream ice cream, and Jeno gets rainbow sherbet. They walk up the steps to the summit of a small hill, where a smattering of children run around flying kites and playing tag.

(Jaemin almost misses the way Jeno is skipping, a barely concealed smile on his face, and how he’s the most upbeat he’s been in a while. More specifically, since Jaemin first told Jeno about Yangyang.)

The top of the hill is quiet, tranquil. A light breeze blows into their faces, and Jaemin cries a little bit. He’s not all that heartbroken, but he misses Yangyang’s warmth just a little bit. It’s selfish, he thinks, how he’s sad when Yangyang obviously liked him more than he did him, when Yangyang is probably feeling worse than he is.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Sure.”

Jeno is silent for a moment.

“Why did you break up with him? I thought things were going well.”

“I broke up with him because I’m scared. I’m scared of building something only for it to crumble. Yangyang has tons of time left, and I don’t want him to spend time worrying about me. I’m just tying him down when he could be doing so much more.”

That’s only half of the story, but Jaemin doesn’t say that.

The truth was, Jaemin couldn’t stop comparing Yangyang to Jeno. Him and Yangyang were beautiful; all sunshine and warmth, a blanket of hope. But compared to Jeno, it felt false. The way Jeno fit with him was incomparable, and suddenly Jaemin’s smiles felt too forced. Suddenly Yangyang’s smile wasn’t as infectious and magnetic anymore.

Ultimately, when you’ve had the best, you end up comparing everything else to it. It’s never as good.

If Yangyang was the sun in the sky, with white rays and an unconditional positivity that exuded from his very pores, Jeno was the moon. Jeno was gentle and kind, quick to forgive and listen, with a quiet optimism and grace that was exemplified in everything he did. Jeno, perhaps, was the realest person Jaemin had ever known; never saying something he didn’t mean.

The sun had always been too bright for Jaemin anyway.

“Thing is, Yangyang has a lot of time. The time you have left is but a speck of dust for him. Besides, you didn’t know him for that long. Your departure wouldn’t be as crushing as it would be for, say, your mother.”

“Yeah, but I have too little time to invest into something I can’t keep. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. It couldn’t have lasted anyway.”

“Of course it matters. Jaemin, you have to stop thinking that your deadline is the bane of every relationship you’ll ever have.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jaemin spits, more spitefully than he intends. Jeno falters. “The only thing I wanted was forever, and I can’t even have that.”

Jeno is quiet. “That’s not true. I think you can make tiny little forevers any time, anywhere.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. There is so much love in the world we live in, Jaemin. Yeah, we focus on the bad stuff: the wars, the shitty politics that we get so swept up in. But if we just stop to look around and listen and breathe and _feel_ , you can see that there is so much love in these little spaces between. Everything is so beautiful, or has the potential to be. You just have to choose to see it.”

“I get that, but if you make a home in everything, then when you leave, the emptiness will hurt for the person. That’s not a good thing.”

“Oh, Jaemin.” Jeno turns to look at him and smiles. “No home can ever be truly empty. The memories fill it to the brim until it overflows. Build a home in anyone and anything. No matter how temporary it may be, as long as there is a strong foundation, it can last forever.”

“Forever is a long time, Jeno. It is trillions of years of this world’s continued existence that we fail to comprehend because human lives are so short. One day, when Earth implodes, and the human race as we know it ceases to exist, the world will still be around. You can’t just say forever.”

“Think about it: there are an infinity of numbers between, say, 1 and 2. There’s 1.1, 1.01, 1.001, and so on. However there is a bigger infinity of numbers between 1 and 3, or 1 and 28, or 1 and 5000. You get what I mean. Just because it’s small doesn’t mean it’s not infinite.”

“The fuck is this, the Fault In Our Stars? Jeno, we all die at some point, the very _notion_ of our lives is finite--”

“Well, if you’re so smart, then why are you still so afraid?”

Jaemin scoffs. He can’t argue with that logic, but he’s not about to back down now. “So you think that if you were in my shoes, you could just... build a forever in someone in 100 days.”

The question hangs in the air between them for a moment, and Jaemin almost takes it back before Jeno’s gaze snaps directly back to meet his.

“Of course.”

(Jaemin realises that Jeno’s already built a home in his heart, but he’ll never tell him that. Jaemin has never been much of an idealist, but nonetheless, he hopes against all hope that the opposite is true as well.)

* * *

One day out of the blue, Jeno grows cold.

He quits his job, never disclosing why even when Jaemin persists. For a week, he shuts himself in his room and doesn’t respond to Jaemin’s requests to play Overwatch or watch a show.

Jaemin thinks that maybe it’s his fault. Maybe he’s made his crush too obvious and Jeno’s put off by it, and is thus avoiding him. Maybe he hadn’t washed the dishes one too many times, or Jeno was suffering from lack of sleep from waking up in the middle of the night because of Jaemin’s nightmares; which, while few in number nowadays, were intense nonetheless.

Whatever it is, Jaemin is determined to make it right.

With two and a half weeks left on the clock, he decides enough is enough. Just before the sun starts to set, he leaves the apartment for the supermarket, buys the necessary ingredients, and starts cooking the moment he gets home.

Considering their normal meals consist of takeout and delivery, Jeno’s interest is piqued; just as Jaemin had predicted. Jeno pads over to the kitchen and looks over Jaemin’s shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Fine. What are you cooking?”

“Food.”

“Hah. Funny.”

“It’ll be done soon. Just sit down.”

Jaemin can feel Jeno’s breath on his neck as he peers curiously at the pan in front of him.

“It smells good.”

Pause.

“Why are you doing this?”

Jaemin stills. Why _is_ he doing this?

The first reason his mind jumps to, obviously, is that Jeno has been pushing him away and Jaemin is slightly lonely with no one to watch stupid K-dramas with him. So of course he wants to cheer Jeno up. But did it run deeper than that? Was it really just all platonic concern or was there something more?

Jaemin shakes his head. This isn’t the time to over-analyse, especially when the rice is on a hot pan and threatening to burn.

“So you can cheer up. You’ve been off recently.”

Jeno says nothing, and retires to the living room. He probably already knows Jaemin’s intentions. He always does. 

Jaemin plates the food, and he brings it to the living room couch.

“Here. It’s soy sauce egg rice. It’s... my personal comfort food. Used to cook it every time I felt down.”

“I’m honoured.”

They dig in, and Jaemin’s making snide remarks at the characters on television when he realises that Jeno has gone silent. Looking at Jeno, he is staring at the plate like it has a cockroach on it, and Jaemin is suddenly very, very worried.

“Is it bad? Did I add too much salt? Ohmygod, _fuck_ , I’m so sorry Jeno--”

“No, no, it’s good,” Jeno replies, voice strained. “It’s amazing. It just… it tastes exactly like Mom’s.”

Jaemin falls silent. This is the first Jeno has ever mentioned about his family.

“You know,” Jeno says. “When I first met you, I told you I didn’t have a family. That wasn’t a lie, seeing as there was an accident with Mom and Dad a few years back, but I guess it’s not exactly all truth either.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

Jaemin has the feeling Jeno wants him to stay quiet, and so he does.

“I wanted to be an actor, actually. When I was younger, I had these dreams of making it big in the entertainment industry, becoming the next Lee Jongsuk and everything. But after Mom and Dad died, I switched to vet science to honour them. They’d always wanted me to go into medicine, but I wasn’t interested. And so after they died, I settled for the next best thing. I’ve always liked animals anyway.”

“I… I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t. I never told you. Mom was always good at cooking; always in the kitchen trying out something new. She would change her recipes even for simple things like ramyeon fifty times until it was perfect. This dish was the only thing that stayed the same. I haven’t had it since she died, and it feels odd to have it again.”

“I’m sorry, Jeno, I didn’t realise--”

“Stop apologising, you couldn’t have known.”

Jaemin is bewildered, and for once in his life he is speechless.

“What about you, then?” Jeno prompts, spooning rice into his mouth. “We haven’t talked about our families this entire time, I think. For obvious reasons, I guess, so no pressure or anything, just. To get it off your chest, you know--”

“Yeah, I know,” Jaemin takes a deep breath, lets the memories flood through him freely for the first time since he left. He’s been holding them back for so long now that it flows like a waterfall; hitting him hard and fast and filling him with a warmth that seems so familiar yet so out of reach. A warmth that leaves him cold.

“My parents are fine: Mom taught me how to cook since young, and Dad does business and investment. I have a younger brother, Jisung; he’s graduating high school next year. Then there’s Donghyuck and Renjun; they’re my best friends. We practically grew up together.”

Jeno nods, and Jaemin can feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

“I miss them, Jeno. I miss them so much.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“I have a sibling too. That’s what I meant by me not having a family isn’t true.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I have a brother. Haven’t seen him in a long time, though, and we haven’t really talked since New Years. His name is Doyoung, he’s older than me, and he lives in the city with his boyfriend and works at a law firm there. We used to be really close, and then after Mom and Dad passed, we just. We couldn’t talk about it. We just kind of… shut each other out, went on with our lives separately.”

Pause.

“I… I miss him too. A lot, actually. We used to tell each other everything… and now, I’m alone.”

Jaemin scoffs, affronted. “Wow, I’m just not here, huh.”

Jeno laughs. There’s no humour in it.

“I’m not kidding! You have me!”

“Do I, though? Do I really?”

“The way you don’t care about me. Your power, honestly.”

“I’m joking!”

“Then, will you tell me what’s been going on with you lately?”

Jeno falls silent.

“I quit my job to spend more time with you because one day I realised... your departure date is drawing nearer every day. I know I didn’t make very good on that intention, but I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Jaemin’s heart melts. He reaches over to pull Jeno into a koala-like embrace.

“Jaemin, Jaemin, my plate--”

“It’s empty anyways. You finished the rice.”

“Yeah, but still--!”

Once Jeno stops grumbling, they stay like that for a while. It’s all entangled limbs and warmth and Jaemin feels like there is a small candle in him illuminating him from the inside out. If he opened his mouth now, he just might say something too bold.

“Jaemin,” Jeno ventures, hesitantly. “This may be a little over the line, and I’m sorry if it is, but maybe you should go home. Go back, see your family and friends one last time. Let their worries rest, if only for so long, before you go.”

Jaemin thinks about it. He misses them, but was that worth going back? His disappearance might have been a dark cloud over the small village, but if he went back, wouldn’t he only be causing a thunderstorm to fall free from the skies?

But then again, they’d recover. That’s what humans do, right? They love hard, fall hard and fail too many times to count. But the heart is a resilient thing; it doesn’t break as easily as people say it does, and somewhere beneath it all there is always hope. There is always moving on and getting over, rebuilding.

There is always a new beginning, no matter how dark the night is. Jeno has taught Jaemin that in the past two and a half months: there is always a sunrise to show that a new day begins again, with new opportunities to try again if one only has the courage to take them.

“You know, Jeno, let’s do that. You should visit Doyoung too.”

“Maybe I will.”

There is a silence, and then whatever Jaemin’s been thinking falls out of his mouth, like a message accidentally sent before it was ready.

“Jeno, what if we just… left now?”

Jeno sits up, rolls over until he is no longer in Jaemin’s space, instead looking at him in bewilderment.

“What? Jaemin, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, what if we left now? Just packed up and took a road trip back? The city centre’s in between; we can visit Doyoung. Then we can go back to my town.”

Jaemin reconsiders his sentence.

“...Then we can go back home.”

“But--”

“Jeno, we literally have nothing to lose. You quit your job, and it’s two and a half weeks till I’m gone forever. Might as well make the most of it, right?”

They stare at each other, Jaemin searching Jeno’s eyes that stay unreadable, considering. The moment drags on for one second, two seconds, and then it’s like a switch in Jeno’s eye is flicked.

Suddenly, with scary synchronisation, they are scrambling off the couch, stuffing clothes and toiletries and a shitload of chargers into their bags while hollering at each other from across the apartment in exhilaration. And then, Jaemin is running towards the door, bag in hand as Jeno holds it open.

Before he even comprehends it, Jeno’s tossing him the keys to his car which he hasn’t used in over 2 months, which still works completely fine despite its total disuse. They’re at the gas station, making sure the tyres and the gas tank is full, and then they are on their way; speeding on the currently empty road, screaming themselves hoarse to whatever’s blaring on the radio.

(It’s a long road ahead to home, but Jaemin wouldn’t spend this journey with anyone else.)

* * *

The first day they are on the road, they drive the entire time; each of them taking shifts to sleep while the other drives. The journey is filled with adrenaline-fuelled chatter in the beginning, but eventually, as they get tired, the conversation fades out into the music on the radio and the quiet sounds of their breathing.

When he’s not driving or asleep, Jaemin looks out the window from the passenger seat and watches the world fly by him. Sometimes, the wide road will narrow and they will find themselves in a small town with a community of maybe a hundred people, with small restaurants and a pharmacy tucked into the corner of the street. At lunchtime, they fill their stomachs with samgyetang and bibimbap at a cramped traditional eatery, and the _halmeoni_ running it ruffles Jaemin’s hair and tells him that his kimchi is on the house.

Her kind eyes seem to stare into his soul, and Jaemin wonders if she can sense the aura of imminent departure around him. Old people just seem to know. When they leave, she presses a lucky charm into Jaemin’s palm and smiles, her eyes knowing and wise.

When they get back into the car, Jaemin hangs the charm on the rearview mirror. It’s Jeno’s turn to drive, and even when they’re a distance away, Jaemin can see the _halmeoni_ standing at the entrance of her restaurant, watching them leave. He tries not to feel too unsettled by the way she seems to see all.

It’s a lot of grassland in between the towns: windmills and small farms. When they pass by a whole team of horses, Jaemin claps his hands and yells at Jeno to look out the window. (He misses the way Jeno smiles at him, soft and tender, when he’s yelling excitedly about the colts.)

His first instinct is to get his phone out and take a picture, but the truth is Jaemin hasn’t turned on his phone since he left. It had lain discarded at the bottom of his bag, and he doesn’t even know if it has any battery in it anymore, just knows that if he checks it he will see the messages everyone has left.

The thought of it persists like an itch that won’t go away, and the next time they stop for gas, Jaemin turns on his phone as Jeno goes into the store to buy a snack.

The first thing that greets him is his lockscreen: a picture from Donghyuck’s birthday, with him and Renjun and Donghyuck. They’d gone to the beach and splashed around, feet sinking into the warm sand and the ocean breeze salty on their faces. Jaemin remembers asking a Spanish tourist in a loud Hawaiian t-shirt and a pot belly to help them take the picture through frantic hand gestures and broken English.

They looked so happy. Guilt hits Jaemin in the chest.

And then, all at once, the notifications begin to flood in.

**mom**

(61 missed calls)

Jaemin, where are you?

**dad**

(119 missed calls)

Son, are you okay?

Jaemin, where are you?

Are you alive?

Hello???

**the only one i love (13/08)**

(73 missed calls)

Hyung, what is going on? Are you okay?

Why did you leave?

Hyung??????

**literal demon (13/08)**

(97 missed calls)

jaemin, where the fuck are you?????

(image) explain this note. i fucking dare you.

is this some kind of joke?????????????

WHERE TF ARE YOU.

jaemin???? what is going on.

**tiny gremlin**

(128 missed calls)

Na Jaemin, I swear to God, if you don’t pick up right now I will slit your throat.

What is that note. What happened.

WHERE ARE YOU.

**literal demon (20/08)**

jaemin, it’s been a week.

stop playing.

everyone’s worried.

**tiny gremlin (24/08)**

Honestly, I’m not even mad anymore. I’m fucking scared.

Where are you?

Are you even seeing this?

**dad (27/08)**

We’re not going to the police because you told us not to, but please just tell me you’re safe

**mom (04/09)**

Jaemin, please come home

**literal demon (13/09)**

a month. are you happy?

your brother skipped school for a week because he couldn’t get out of bed without sobbing.

just thought you should know.

**tiny gremlin (25/09)**

I miss you. Hyuck is angry, but I know he does too

Jaemin, please come home

**the only one i love (13/10)**

Hyung, are you okay? Where are you?

I’m sorry I ate on your bed. I’m sorry I avoided your hugs

Will you come back now?

I promise I’ll hug you if you come back

**literal demon (21/10)**

you dipshit.

i’m not angry anymore, okay? if you avoided coming back because of me, i’m sorry. please come home

i miss you so much

**tiny gremlin (2 days ago, 01/11)**

I’ve kinda given up on you replying, so I’ll just pretend you’re reading this when I know you’re probably not

Johnny invited us to his Halloween party last night.

I think we could’ve made a sick Mean Girls trio, but Hyuck and I went as Joker and Harley Quinn

We’re together now, btw

(+12 images)

I wish you could’ve been there. Johnny asked whether we’d heard from you. He says he misses you

I don’t know what happened, but we all miss you. Me and Hyuck, and your family, and Jisung. Everyone, really

Please don’t be dead

Please come home

When Jeno comes back, Jaemin is crying, the tears plinking onto his screen. Jeno understands, and he takes over Jaemin’s driving shift, which Jaemin spends crying and sleeping, only to wake up and cry again. They (read: Jeno) decides that they’ll pull into the next small town and settle there for a night. In the early morning, they’ll leave for the city centre, see Doyoung for a bit, and then be at Jaemin’s house by nightfall.

By the time Jaemin’s gotten it together a little bit, they’ve rented a room at a musty roadside motel and dropped their things there. There’s only one queen-sized bed, and Jeno hesitantly volunteers to sleep on the floor with his bag as a pillow, but Jaemin refuses. “It’s not like we haven't slept together before!”

Jeno’s ears turn pink.

“Not that way!”

“Yeah, I know, I know. It’s fine.”

They have dinner at a dinky pub reminiscent of the one they’d met in, gorging themselves on fried chicken. Jaemin downs two beers in ten minutes, and suddenly he is so angry. He is angry at the world for being so unfair, for giving him so little time when he has so much left to do.

“Fuck everything, man. I hate this.” Jaemin declares, voice cutting through the football commentary in the background. His voice sounds sharp, like broken glass. “I hate having a hundred days left. I hate this. I fucking _hate_ this. There is no God, only fucking injustice.”

“Sh-shit, I agree. Fuck this shit.”

All the anger is bubbling up past Jaemin’s lips like a bottle of champagne. “I’m not even a bad person. I get good grades, I help Jisung with algebra and old people cross the road. I did _nothing_ to deserve this? And now,” He hiccups. “Now I have _nothing_. Everyone at home _hates_ me.”

“They don’t. They miss you.”

“Yeah, and when I get home, what are they gonna do? They’re gonna f-fucking kill me, Jeno. They’re going to rip me to shreds.”

“Sounds shitty.”

“It does!”

The good thing about anger and alcohol put together is that it gives rise to an energy ten times stronger than adrenaline. It leaves Jaemin clear-headed and more than impulsive. It gives him the drive to do something terrible.

“You know what? Fuck this. If the world wants me to die, I’ll give them a reason to.”

Jeno’s gaze whips to his confusedly, except drinking makes Jeno slow and so he looks like a lost bunny. Jaemin just about restrains his urge to pinch Jeno’s cheeks. “Jaemin, wha--?”

Jaemin’s eyes burn with mirth and rashness. “Jeno, let’s do a bad.”

“Wh-- Fuck-- Jaemin, I don’t think--”

“We’re in a town where no one knows us. We’re leaving tomorrow. If we play our cards right, we’ll never get caught.”

Sober Jeno would have protested, but Drunk Jeno hums, convinced. With that, Jaemin tosses a bunch of bills on the counter, not bothering to count them, and they hightail it out of the pub.

There’s a convenience store nearby, and it’s almost 11pm, but Jaemin manages to snatch a set of five cans of spray paint before it closes. Jeno is starting to perk up, the alcohol starting to burn through his veins instead of slowing it down, and he looks excited. He stares at the spray paint can Jaemin presents him with an evil sort of glee, like how an assassin would look at a gun.

Jaemin doesn’t know these buildings, and so there is no guilt. The paint that expels itself from the nozzle is hot pink, while Jeno’s is neon green. It is liberating, almost to watch white walls be covered in sloppy strokes of pink and green. They paint moustaches and devil horns on pictures of idols on storefront windows, mocking their fame and their stupid _fucking_ luck and looks. Jaemin paints an obscene image and the words “FUCK YOU” in bright pink on the side of a minivan, and Jeno adds onto it: spray painting the windshield neon green without abandon.

The streets are empty, and they are rebels, if only for one night, rebelling against the life they were given.

They are in the middle of a competition on who can draw the ugliest version of Michael Jackson when red and blue lights appear in the distance, along with the blaring sound of a siren.

“Fuck, are those--”

“Shit. Cops.”

When two policemen exit the car, they drop their spray paint cans and run for their lives.

“You! Stop right there!”

They don’t look back. Jeno disappears into an alleyway, and Jaemin follows him. Behind them are shouts of “Stop!” and “Don’t move!” and they don’t care, they are running. Sometimes the shouts are too close for comfort, but Jaemin never looks back. At some point, he clasps Jeno’s hand in one of his and they take off like bullets together, sprinting between small alleyways and darting around a maze of small side streets until they have no idea of where they are, or where they came from. Somewhere, they lose the policemen and lean heavily against a metal gate, heaving.

Jeno laughs, and Jaemin kind of wants to kiss the smile on his face. “We almost got caught.”

“Well, we didn’t, and that’s all that matters.”

“You didn’t write your name on anything, did you?”

“What am I, a dumbass? Obviously not."

“Good, good.”

It is then that Jaemin realises that they are close.

Very close.

Jaemin is drunk out of his mind, and so is Jeno. _If I kissed him now, he wouldn’t remember in the morning_ , Jaemin thinks. He considers it, turning the possibility around in his head as rationally as he can for someone whose mind is swimming with portraits of his family members and friends.

Even drunk, he finds that he cannot escape them.

_Yeah, he wouldn’t remember. But then, neither would I._

Jeno is staring at his lips, and Jaemin smiles. Not now, not yet. For now, he pushes Jeno away, then proceeds to topple straight over. Jeno runs to his aid. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jaemin grumbles, standing up again. “I’m just.” He winces at the light of a street lamp. “I’m just completely baked, dude. Let’s go back to the motel.”

By some miracle, they find it again, and they plough up four flights of stairs half-sober before collapsing onto their bed. Jeno starts snoring immediately, still in his coat and shoes, but Jaemin takes a moment.

For now, he thinks, this can be real, if only for a little bit. And so, he tugs Jeno’s body closer to his, breathes in the familiar scent of lavender underneath the salty sweat and musk, and drifts away.

(One second, even if it’s just a second, is all so worth-it. Jeno had said that infinities could be made in seconds, after all. However, Jaemin reckons he’d live a life in pain if he could spend it all with Jeno by his side.)

* * *

By sunrise, Jaemin’s mouth is dry as sawdust and he can practically feel his heartbeat pounding like a drum in his head, but they are in the car on their way to the city centre. Jeno sleeps in the passenger seat, jaw slack and mouth ajar, still blacked out from the night before. When he wakes, they stop at a soup restaurant for a quick hangover cure, and then they are back on the road again.

As they approach the city centre, their surroundings blur from fields to infrastructure and traffic lights, and the roads slowly get more densely packed with cars. It’s a nice change from the countryside and small cars that he’s grown used to living with, and Jaemin wonders how a place can be as connected yet as distant as the city is. Meanwhile, Jeno is checking his Google Maps, frantically typing in commands only to let out a sigh of frustration.

“What the hell is this place.” He says, deadpan, staring at his phone like he wants to throw it out the window.

“Do you even know where your brother lives?” Jaemin asks.

“Obviously. He’s given me his address before. It’s just hard to navigate; so many small roads and alleys. I hate the city. Who the hell decided to make it a maze?”

“A true country boy.”

“Hypocrite, you live in the South.”

“Fair enough.”

Eventually, after circling the same area twice, Jaemin and Jeno find themselves parked in front of a building of apartments. It’s small and cozy, and they press the doorbell for the third floor, whose balcony blooms with sunflowers. They’re buzzed in immediately, and take a small, slightly creaky lift up.

When they knock on the door, Doyoung opens it immediately. His eyes widen at the sight of Jeno, and his eyes trace back and forth between him and Jaemin in question.

“Jeno?”

Jeno fidgets slightly, hands in his pocket and smiling at the ground. “Hyung. It’s been a while.”

“You could say that.” His gaze shifts to Jaemin, who stands awkwardly to the side. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, uh, this is Jaemin.”

“Nice to meet you, Jaemin.” He shakes Jaemin’s hand, grip firm. Opening the door to his apartment, the two remove their shoes and enter. The apartment is clean and bright, and there are vases of flowers at every table. There is a man reading a book at the dining table with a mug in front of him; presumably Doyoung’s boyfriend, Jaehyun, who peers over his glasses and puts down his book when he sees Jaemin and Jeno. He stands up.

“Hi Jeno,” he grunts, his voice deep, walking to stand next to Doyoung. He smiles cautiously. “Doyoung didn’t tell me you’d be here. It’s nice to see you again though!”

“Good to see you too, Jaehyun-hyung. He didn’t know, I came on a whim.”

“Right, right.” Jaehyun’s eyes move to Jaemin, and he gives him a once-over. “Hello..?”

“Jaemin. I’m Jeno’s friend.”

Jaehyun nods, putting his arm around Doyoung. “I see. So are you friends, or are you,” He raises an eyebrow. “ _Friends_?”

Doyoung smacks him in the arm. “Jaehyun! You can’t just--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Jaemin interjects. Jeno’s staring at the ground, almost as if he wants a hole to open up and swallow him whole. “Friends. Just friends. He’s giving me a lift back to my house.”

“In the city?”

“No, South from here.”

“Both of you drove all the way from the North?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story.”

“Shit,” Doyoung says, extricating himself from Jaehyun’s half-embrace. “It’s just past one, you must be hungry. I was about to cook, but I guess it’s good I waited. We don’t have enough for four.” He smiles apologetically. “Shall we get delivery? There’s a good Chinese place that delivers here.”

No complaints are raised, and half an hour later, the four of them are feasting on cream shrimp and _tangsuyuk_ , letting Jeno and Doyoung catch up and trade banter. That’s when Jaemin notices the ring shining on Doyoung’s left hand.

“Oh! Jeno didn’t tell me you were engaged. Congratulations!” Jaemin says, gesturing at the ring.

Doyoung chokes on a mouthful of chicken, and a blush erupts on Jaehyun’s cheeks as Jeno’s head snaps up.

“What? You’re engaged?”

Doyoung nods, and Jaehyun smiles fondly at him.

“Surprise?” Doyoung says, smiling. “I was planning to tell you, really, but I mean, Jaemin’s here and I thought it would make him feel uncomfortable--”

“No, it’s fine!” Jaemin interjects. “When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t decided on a date yet. It’s very early-stage right now, honestly. Neither of us have a clue about weddings.”

To Jaemin’s surprise, Jeno isn’t saying anything. Conversation, albeit slightly stilted, had flowed easily from him earlier, but now he’s totally silent. Jaemin glances at him. Currently, Jeno bears an expression of someone vaguely ill as he stares down at his bowl unseeingly.

“Jeno? You good?”

Jeno breaks out of his stupor, and he smiles. “Yeah! Zoned out, that’s all. I’m really happy for you, hyung. Good job, Jaehyun.”

Jaemin doesn’t bring up how Jeno’s face is as pale and pallid as a sheet, or how his smile seems too bright and forced, but Doyoung and Jaehyun don’t seem to notice. Jaehyun kisses Doyoung’s cheek, and his ears turn pink.

“It was hard trying to keep the secret, honestly.” Jaehyun says, smiling fondly. “I’m no good at keeping my excitement about things to myself, and I planned on proposing when we went to Italy on holiday. Almost got busted by immigration for having it in my pocket, but everything turned out great in the end.”

Jaemin smiles. He notices Jeno grow increasingly withdrawn, the smile gone from his face. No one notices except him, and he wonders if maybe he’s reading too much into it.

Abruptly, Jeno stands up. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the corridor behind you, to the right,” Jaehyun supplies.

From there, Jaemin asks for details on the proposal, and Doyoung has the decency to look slightly ashamed when Jaehyun launches into an excited spiel about Italy, and how he’d proposed in the light of the orange sunset near a lake when no one was around. They discuss the proposal and tentative wedding plans for a suspiciously long ten minutes until Jeno returns, subdued.

“Hyung, can I speak to you? Alone?”

Doyoung looks shocked. “Jeno, are you okay? You don’t look so good—”

“I’m fine,” Jeno interrupts, swallowing. “I just need to talk to you.”

“O-okay.”

As the pair of brothers adjourn to a different room, Jaehyun and Jaemin are left at the dining table, and an awkward silence settles over them. Jaemin considers asking another question about Jaehyun’s proposal to break the ice, but then Jaehyun speaks up unexpectedly.

“You know, I don’t think Jeno’s ever liked me all that much.”

The honesty and grudging resignation in his tone takes Jaemin aback. “What? Why would you say that?”

“I started dating Doyoung just before their parents passed in the accident. At the time, Jeno was a sophomore, and Doyoung and I were seniors. In high school, he didn’t have many friends. Jeno’s always been pretty shy; great kid, but quiet, never really a people person. He depended on Doyoung a lot, and I guess when we started dating I took some of their time away. Even though he’s always been kind and polite to me, I think a small part of him resents me for taking part of Doyoung away from him, especially when he needed him the most.”

“Shit. I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun smiles ruefully. “I’m scared he doesn’t approve of the marriage, that he’ll try and get Doyoung to reconsider. His behaviour right now doesn’t exactly disprove that.”

“Jeno wouldn’t do that though,” Jaemin argues. “He loves Doyoung, and he definitely doesn’t hate you. They could be discussing something else.”

“Sure.” Jaehyun takes a sip of his water. “You seem to know Jeno pretty well.”

Jaemin notes the sudden change in topic, but decides not to call Jaehyun out on it. “Well, I did live with him for some time, so we’ve gotten really close.”

“Lived with him? Why?”

“I…” Jaemin wonders whether he should tell Jaehyun, or why he should at all; then decides that Jaehyun seems trustworthy enough. “I ran away from home. See, I don’t have… much time left. I turned 20 a couple months ago and now I have around half a month left. I met Jeno by chance at a bar, and he offered to help me out. Now, we’re on a road trip back to my hometown in the South.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen with understanding, then a mix of condolence and sympathy. “I’m sorry. That must hurt a lot.”

“Yeah, it’s not great,” Jaemin agrees. “It’s not all bad, though. I met Jeno, and he’s taught me so much about the world. He’s not as pessimistic as he seems, and I’ve grown as a person in the past few months through learning from him. I’m almost at peace with the fact that I’ll be gone soon, and I only hope I’ll be someone worth remembering in the long run.”

Jaehyun rests his chin in his palm, nodding. He processes this for a while, then speaks quietly. “You really love him, huh.”

Jaemin’s face flushes crimson immediately. Love was, certainly, a feeling. That people felt. “Well, I like him plenty, but love?”

The way Jaehyun looks into Jaemin’s eyes is soul-searching and full of wisdom. “Don’t be so afraid of it. When I realised I loved Doyoung, I tried to run away from it for months. It’s a daunting feeling, like a responsibility that you think you’re not ready for, but no one can be responsible for love. There is no manual for it, no remote control: you suppress it, it only grows. If you just embrace it, life will be all the more simple. It’s easier said than done, I know, and it takes an immense amount of courage to give your heart to someone, but trust me when I say it’s worth it.”

Jaemin considers this. “What if he doesn’t love me back?”

Jaehyun chuckles. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. From what I know of him, Jeno doesn’t just lend his help to anyone, let alone share his house and his life.”

Jaemin nods, pensive.

“And as for him not remembering you? I don’t think that’s possible.”

It’s then that Jeno and Doyoung emerge from whatever room they were in. Jeno’s entire body looks drained, as if there is a physical weight on him, and Doyoung’s eyes are red and puffy from crying. Jaehyun immediately gets up.

“Doyoung, are you okay?” He whirls on Jeno, eyes flashing. “What did you say?”

“No, no, Jaehyun, it’s okay,” Doyoung croaks, wiping a hand over his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously _not_ nothing, if you’re crying--”

“It wasn’t anything hurtful,” He says. “He just told me some bad news.”

Jaehyun backs down, wrapping Doyoung in a tight embrace.

Jaemin looks at Jeno, who refuses to meet his gaze. “Jeno, what did you--”

“It’s nothing. We have to go now if we want to make it back to your hometown by dinner, factoring in traffic.”

“Jen--”

“Jaemin.” Jaemin is shocked at the anger in Jeno’s voice. “Drop it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jaemin backs down.

“You’re leaving now?” Jaehyun asks, still comforting Doyoung. “But you just got here! Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? We haven’t seen you in a while, Jeno--

“We’re trying to get back to Jaemin’s house by nightfall, so it’s best if we leave now.” Jeno states politely. He sounds like he’s reading off a script. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer.”

With that, Jeno resolutely moves towards the door, and Jaemin mutely follows. After putting their shoes back on, they face Jaehyun and Doyoung, who has stopped crying. Jeno pulls him in for a hug; brief but full of emotion. “I love you, hyung. I’ll see you.” He looks at Jaehyun. “Take care of him for me, won’t you? I trust you.”

Jaehyun looks genuinely shocked at that. “Thank you.”

Jaemin smiles at the both of them, bows twice. Just as he turns to leave, Jaehyun calls his name.

“Jaemin.”

He turns back. Jaehyun is smiling.

“Rest assured, I will remember you.”

Those six words hold no motives; it is raw, a message laid bare and true. It warms Jaemin. He grins, the light in his heart pouring out. In another life, maybe Jaehyun could have been his older brother.

“Thank you.”

In the lift, Jeno no longer radiates hostility; just an undeniable blue melancholy that Jaemin makes a point not to ask about. They walk back to the car and get back in, Jaemin in the driver’s seat. Jeno speaks up first.

“Where to now, Jaemin?”

Jaemin steps on the accelerator, pulling out from their parking spot. Looking out from his driver-side window, he can vaguely see Jaehyun and Doyoung watching them depart from their sunflower-filled balcony on the third floor. He smiles, then grips the steering wheel.

“Home. Let’s go home.”

* * *

Just past sunset, Jaemin starts to recognise the road signs. When muscle memory guides him through the streets instead of the robotic voice of the Google Maps assistant, he knows.

He’s back.

He rambles anxiously about the places they pass to Jeno, who peers out of the window in curiosity. There’s the ice cream shop near the park that sells every flavour imaginable: Jaemin’s favourite had always been cookies and cream, and there’s the bench that he would sit at every summer afternoon enjoying it. There’s his high school, his old dance centre, the mechanics shop he’d worked at for exactly three days before the smell of gasoline gave him a perpetual headache.

There are memories tied to everything he sees. They fill Jaemin up until he suffocates.

Too soon, he’s turning into his cul-de-sac. He sees Donghyuck and Renjun sitting on Renjun’s porch and thinks about stopping, but by then he’s too far away. He wonders if they saw his car.

He stops in front of his house. It’s 8pm, so his family’s probably having dinner, and the inside of his house is lit up. They still have stray Halloween decorations up, and Jaemin fondly remembers faithfully helping his parents put them up every year.

Jaemin steps out of the car, hands trembling slightly. Jeno follows behind, hand on his lower back in some form of reassurance. The truth is, Jaemin is nervous. Surely his parents hate him now, and Donghyuck would probably rip him a new one. He misses home, but he has changed from his new experiences and old grief, and what do you do if instead of fitting into the puzzle, you slip between the cracks?

They stand outside the gate, Jaemin taking in the autumn air through deep breaths. Jeno pulls him into a hug.

“It’s going to be okay. Just tell them the truth. We didn’t come all the way here to hide.”

They stay in that position for a while, Jaemin resting his chin on Jeno’s shoulder as Jeno pats his back soothingly. Somehow, Jeno always knows exactly what to say at the right moment.

Somehow, Jaemin finds the courage to walk up to the door and ring the doorbell. He has keys, yes, but he doesn’t think it courteous to spring his return onto his family like that. With bated breath, he hears the turn of the lock, the door opening.

“Renjun, Donghyuck, is that you? I wasn’t expecting you tonight--”

She looks up at Jaemin, and Jaemin watches as tears spring to her eyes. Her entire form seems to cave in, and her voice breaks.

“Jaemin?”

Immediately, Jaemin wraps his arms around her. She smells so familiar; like lemon and fabric softener. She smells like home. He hears her break in his embrace; her shoulders shaking, a wet patch growing on Jaemin’s shirt as his mother begins to cry. He swallows the lump that begins to form in his throat, wills the tears in his eyes to go away.

“Hey, Mom,” He says, his voice strained with emotion. “I’m home.”

* * *

From there, everything happens in a blur.

The commotion attracts Jisung (with a full two inches on Jaemin now), who tackles Jaemin to the floor in a hug and begins to cry into his shirt. By the time his father comes along, the entire family is sprawled on the floor in a group hug, Jeno standing awkwardly to the side.

Just as Jaemin begins to collect himself, Donghyuck and Renjun arrive. They’re heaving from running, but they still yell about seeing Jaemin’s car drive past. And then they spot Jaemin, and the tears start flowing again as they engulf each other in a hug; Donghyuck slapping Jaemin in the arm and screaming at him even when he cries.

(“Your fucking _hair_!” He’d moaned in between sobs, sounding absolutely ruined. “What the _fuck_ is this bubblegum shit? I _love_ it! You never let me dye your hair before, you absolute bitch, we could have gotten rainbow streaks together!”

“It was an impulse decision. Blame Jeno. He was the one who peer pressured me into doing it.”

Donghyuck had turned to Jeno then. Tears still streaming down his face, he’d stared in wonder at Jeno, who rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Who are you and what religion are you part of because if you could get Na Jaemin, who swore against hair dye in middle school, to bleach his hair bright pink, you must be some kind of saint.”

“He didn’t take that much convincing, though?”

At that, Donghyuck had burst into louder sobs and promptly toppled over onto Renjun, who had yelped in a high-pitched, shrill tone that made everyone in a five-mile radius’ ears bleed.)

But eventually, the glitter of Jaemin’s return fades, and now he is left to pick up the pieces of the mess he made when he left. Jaemin and everyone else sits around the dinner table, dinner going cold as Jaemin formally introduces Jeno and explains their friendship, Jeno helpfully chipping in. They talk generally about where he’s been, what he’s done, and then the real questions begin.

“Why did you leave?” Jaemin’s mother asks. “It was so sudden. You turned 20, and then you just… you were _gone_.”

Jaemin takes in a deep breath, then stutters. Jeno, sitting next to him, still has a reassuring hand on the back of his chair, and shoots him an eye-smile that restores some semblance of confidence in Jaemin.

“The truth is. Well… the number on my wrist is small. I needed to get away from here because I was scared that I would be treated differently, that my burden would be on everyone else. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Silence.

“You still made us worry anyway, though,” his father says.

“Yeah, I get that. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, wait, hold on, backtrack for a second,” Renjun pipes up, nervous. “You said the number that appeared on your wrist is small. What do you mean? How small is ‘small’?”

Jaemin knows he should feel sad; should feel angry, or disgusted at how little time he has. But oddly, there is nothing in the pit of his stomach except calm. After all, nestled in the eye of a hurricane is quiet, a false sense of tranquility; and for just a moment, an amber sky.

“The number that appeared on my wrist that day was 102.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from somewhere around the table, but Jaemin continues.

“Right now, it’s 15. Just over two weeks.”

Silence. Jaemin watches as it registers in everyone’s heads, as everyone’s expressions turn into that of blatant shock as it sinks in.

“No, no, no,” Donghyuck shakes his head. “This can’t be real. You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.” Jaemin breathes, his voice a faint whisper.

“I- I’m- No. I need some air.” With that, Donghyuck is out of his chair, making a break for the door. The tension at the table couldn’t be dented with a chainsaw.

“Well, uh,” Renjun says, wringing his hands. “I’m just gonna go check if Hyuckie’s alright.” With that, he makes his exit.

The remaining silence is deafening. Jisung breaks it first.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Everyone snaps to look in Jisung’s direction, and Jaemin realises his brother is shaking, fists curled on the table.

“Jisung,” His mother mutters. “Don’t talk to your hyung like th--”

“Well, he’s not being such a brilliant hyung right now, is he.” His eyes are filled with tears but at the same time blazing with a fire that threatens to burn Jaemin to a crisp. “Look,” Jisung runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what the _fuck_ you were thinking, but did you never consider that we wouldn’t be hurt by this as well? We’ve spent our entire lives with you. Did you really think that it was just you, and this stranger you’ve brought home?” He points a finger at Jeno, who remains silent. “That’s pretty selfish. Not really very kind and caring of you, to be honest. Not very hyung-like.”

Jaemin is rigid with shock. “Jisung--”

“And oh wow, I bet you think you’re so noble for just up and leaving, because you didn’t want your burden to be on everyone else. Newsflash! You’re not special, and just deciding to book it out of nowhere with nothing but some god-awful excuse of a note was already quite the load on everyone, so thanks!”

“I didn’t mean to--”

“Frankly, I couldn’t give a flying rat’s ass about what you meant to do or not!” Jisung’s voice drops to an intense, low tone that sends Jaemin’s skin crawling. “I just think it’s total bullshit how you think you can spring this onto us with no warning whatsoever after making us all worry when you went on your little soul-searching adventure with Jeno over here. Bet you expect us to be completely fine with this too.” Jisung scoffs, then stands. “But you know what? Whatever. Do what you want with the time you have left. See if I care.”

He storms away, and Jaemin’s heart breaks into two.

“Jisung!” His father reprimands. “You come back here!”

There is no reply, just the sound of footfalls going up the stairs. Jaemin’s heart twists itself into a knot.

“Don’t take it to heart, Jaemin-ah,” His father reassures. He wears an expression on his face that makes it look like he’s aged twenty years in the past five minutes. “Jisung went through a lot when you left, so I guess it’s given that he’s hurt. Just give him some space, he doesn’t mean it.”

“I know. It just… it wasn’t nice to hear that, especially from Jisung.”There is a lump in his throat that refuses to disappear no matter how hard he swallows. Even surrounded by his family and Jeno, Jaemin doesn’t think he’s ever felt more alone.

“Understandable.”

Pause.

“So… it’s true then,” Jaemin’s mother says, voice small. “You’re meant to go in… two weeks?”

“Yes,” Jaemin hangs his head in guilt and regret. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you earlier, and that I caused you worry by running away.”

“I can’t say it’s fine, because it isn’t,” Jaemin’s mother replies, her words seeming to hold the weight of the world. “But I can’t say this comes as a total shock to your father and I either, even if we never brought up with your brother. Jaemin, , knowing who you are, only your worst monsters could have possibly driven you away. You left on the night you turned twenty; there’s only so many things that could’ve happened.”

“You knew?”

“We didn’t. We only guessed,” His mother sniffs, tears bright in her eyes. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less hearing it confirmed.”

The silence that ensues is wet and Jaemin’s conscience, brimming with guilt and terror for the future, begins to tear at its seams.

“So… does anyone else having anything to say?”

Surprisingly, Jaemin isn’t the one that says this. It’s Jeno. Jaemin’s throat is tight, and he watches as his parents eye each other cautiously.

“I don’t mean to overstep, obviously,” Jeno rephrases, smiling politely. Under Jeno’s eye-smile, Jaemin can see his parents visibly relax. It has that effect on people. “It’s been a really long day for us-- I mean, Jaemin, and while this comes as an unwelcome shock, anything that isn’t too pressing can be left till the morning, when we’ve all had some time to calm down.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jaemin’s father agrees. “Jeno, do you mind sleeping in Jaemin’s room tonight? We don’t exactly have any other places available, and I don’t want you to sleep on the couch…”

“Yeah, that’s fine!” Neither of them mention how they've already slept in the same bed.

And so now they’re here, Jeno lying in Jaemin’s childhood bed. The sheets smell musty from disuse, but they still have the warm, lemon-scented aura that’s always been part of Jaemin’s life. On the ceiling are glow-in-the-dark stars that Jaemin had pasted on when they’d just moved in.

Jaemin tries not to think about how he’d done that with Jisung, or how Jisung had a matching set of glow-in-the-dark spaceships on the ceiling of his room.

Jeno is lying to his left, squeezed into Jaemin’s side. He seems to know exactly what Jaemin is thinking; he always does.

“Don’t worry too much about Jisung. He was hurt, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re mad.”

“I get that, but still… it wasn’t fun. Not at all,” It hadn’t been great for Jaemin to hear every insecurity that had plagued him since the beginning of this entire ordeal thrown at his face like acid bombs. “He even made those snippy comments at you. That was really uncalled for.”

“I am a stranger to him, though. Realistically, I don’t mean a lot to your friends and family. It’s understandable why he would be mad, because to anyone, it does seem like I’m stealing you away from him.”

“Okay, but it’s coming from Jisung. We’ve hardly ever argued. Jisung never shouts unless he’s scared by something.”

“Consider that he _is_ actually scared, and is channeling that fear into anger because he doesn’t know how to cope with it.”

“I know, but Jisung is my baby brother. This sounds so trivial, but I’m afraid that this will mark some sort of change in our relationship for the next two weeks.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Jeno, I never wanted change. I’ve established that from the beginning. I didn’t ask for a short lifespan, nor did I ask to run away from my entire life only to come back a different person and have everyone coddle me like I’m some sort of commodity. But at the same time, I don’t want people to be hurt.”

“Jaemin, in running away, you gave them cause to be hurt. It’s normal. Eventually, they’ll realise that there’s no time to be sorry, or bitter, or sad; and I honestly think that’s something you need to understand as well.”

Jaemin doesn’t know what to say, and so he keeps his eyes trained on the stickers on the ceiling. He hasn’t seen them in so long, and now they’re especially hypnotising. Jaemin vaguely remembers his astrology phase, and how he’d stuck the constellation of Leo up there to match his birthday.

“Hey,” He says, breaking the comfortable silence. “Obviously it isn’t the same, but doesn’t this remind you of that one night we went stargazing on your roof?”

Jeno chuckles, warm and melodic. “Huh. You could say that.”

“You know, that night, you really saved me from doing something I would regret.” Jaemin pauses, a smile on his lips. “Thank you for that.”

Jeno hums. “Do you also remember what I told you that night?”

“Mm, yeah. You gave me that whole star lecture, you Tumblr 2015 astrologer.”

“Shut up. It was a phase, and I _know_ you had one too. The Leo constellation is very obviously stuck to your ceiling, so there’s no point denying it.”

“Damn, you noticed?”

“I did. But that’s not the point. What I said to you that night was to make the absolute best of the time you had left, no matter how short it may be. It’s better than having your regrets and letting that weigh down your conscience. How can you expect to leave in peace when the only thing you’re doing is worrying?”

“I did worry the people I loved, and now they’re mad, how could I _not_ be pressed about that--”

“It’s over, though?” Jaemin can practically hear Jeno raising an eyebrow. “There’s not much you can do about that, so just leave it be. Focus on what is happening and what you have _now_ ; make it the best moments of your life. Your past mistakes, your regrets; they will all smooth over if you give it enough time.”

Sometimes, Jaemin thinks Jeno is some all-knowing, omniscient deity, for no one he knows could even dream of being this wise and generous with their time and words. Jeno was always giving, never expecting much in return. Being someone with barely anything to give, Jaemin appreciated his spirit. He doesn’t know how to comprehend this, or put this into words.

“Okay.” _Smooth_ , Jaemin thinks, internally facepalming. _Real smooth._ “We should sleep.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.” Is that disappointment in Jeno's tone? “Good night, Jaemin.” With that he turns on his side, facing away from Jaemin.

(Somehow, when they wake up, they’re entangled even though they’d fallen asleep separately. Jaemin thinks the sleepy smile Jeno flashes him when his eyes flutter open is something he wants to wake up to forever.)

* * *

In the time he has left, Jaemin tries to reacquaint himself with his definition of home as much as he can.

For the first few days, he brings Jeno around the neighbourhood, familiarising him with his surroundings even if it’s just for two weeks. Somehow, even though everything has stayed the same, Jaemin feels like he’s trying to introduce himself to it rather than to Jeno.

Donghyuck and Renjun tag along most of the time. They had pulled Jaemin out of breakfast the morning after he’d returned, and they’d each kicked him once on both shins before pulling him into a(nother) group hug. Jaemin lets them, even though his brain is only half-functioning, the caffeine rush not having kicked in yet. They officially meet Jeno, and though he takes a while (two whole days, to Donghyuck’s frustration and impatience) to open up, ultimately he slots into their friend group nicely.

Jisung spends a good day sulking and pointedly ignoring Jaemin (“Dad, could you please remind the pink-haired man that he shares his bathroom with someone else and not to leave his dirty underwear on the floor?”) before he breaks. He ends up crying (again) into Jaemin’s shoulder when they’re doing the dishes in tense silence after dinner, begging forgiveness. When their mother comes down to check that they haven’t killed each other, she sees the two brothers eating popsicles together on the sofa as they watch a sitcom. She smiles.

They go everywhere: to the park, the gym, the Chinese restaurant. Jeno shoots Jaemin an evil eye when he brings up his dancing skills, but the four sign up for a workshop and Jeno absolutely kills it. It feels like a normal break from school; just four of them goofing around and having fun. Donghyuck and Renjun are as vibrant as he remembers, or even more so. Jeno is there too, meeting and getting along with Jaemin’s friends and family, so Jaemin should want to get used to this.

He isn’t.

The home he remembers versus the home he has now is… _different_. Everything is too bright and too forced, a flimsy Technicolour facade that slips when he sees someone shoot him a forlorn look in the street, Everywhere he goes, people he barely knows come up to him, greet him, say they’ve missed him. It all feels like they’re trying to compensate for the fact that Jaemin’s about to die.

Jaemin isn’t surprised that they know. The only thing that spreads faster than flu bugs in a small town are the secrets. However, all he wants is the home he remembers: soft, and warm and familiar. Now, it's just a projected green screen image.

It’s not real. Or at least, it doesn’t feel like it.

Is it really home if you don’t fit in like you used to? Jaemin used to be quick to speak, easily discouraged and defensive. Home, his house, his neighbourhood, the people; all havens that prevented him from pricking others. However, his thorns have been cut and his rough edges softened over the past few months, and now his home seems just the slightest bit too prickly. The only thing perfectly in tune with how Jaemin had changed was Jeno, who seemed to fit in all the right places; who had, at some point, hidden himself in Jaemin’s heart and stayed there.

It’s been roughly a month since Jaemin has realised this, and he still doesn’t know what to do. He’d gotten half an answer from Jaehyun, but he needed more. He wanted more confirmation.

‘More confirmation’ comes in the form of Donghyuck and Renjun, insisting that they need an (as Donghyuck calls it) ‘OG 3’ outing.

“What about Jeno? I don’t want to leave him alone.”

The cough Renjun lets out before speaking again sounds an awful lot like “whipped”, but Jaemin doesn’t say anything. He probably misheard. “I texted him about it last night. He says he’s chill with it, and doesn’t feel like going out anyway.”

Jaemin shoots a backwards glance at his front door, slightly uneasy. “Well, sure, I guess.”

“Come on, Jaemin,” Donghyuck pleads. “It hasn’t been just us three in ages. I mean, Jeno’s great, but he hasn’t been around since the start. Let’s just go out, get some ice cream and chill at the park like old times, alright?”

Renjun nods in agreement. “I get that you don’t want to leave Jeno alone, seeing as he’s kind of your guest, but he said it’s fine. Let’s do something fun! Just the three of us. The boys."

Jaemin straightens, feeling more convinced. He can do this. It’s Donghyuck and Renjun, he’s gone out with them millions of times! Why does he feel so nervous? Is he so used to Jeno’s presence being a constant at his side that he feels empty without it? Jaemin pushes those thoughts away, plasters on a smile for now. “Yeah, of course.”

‘Let’s go, then!”

The trio race to the ice cream shop, and Jaemin gets there first, pushing the door open in euphoria. With no current customers, Mark Lee stands behind the counter in his white sailor uniform on his phone, but leaves his post to pull Jaemin into a bro-hug when he sees him enter. Jaemin distantly remembers the nightmare he had of him that night, but that seems like a trivial memory in comparison to the Mark in front of him.

“Jaemin! Haven’t seen you in a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin chuckles good-naturedly. “You could say that.”

“Are you feeling better?” Mark asks, genuine concern in his voice. He looks Jaemin up and down, licking his lips warily as if he’s stepping on a minefield with what he’s about to say. “I heard... things. Heard you weren’t feeling too hot. And that rumour that’s been spreading about you leaving because you were going to die soon? I don’t know, I didn’t believe it when Mom told me, but I figured I’d ask you myself when I had the chance. It’s not true, right? Jaemin, you’re an amazing guy, and you totally don’t deserve that if it’s actua--”

“Mark, Mark, slow down,” Jaemin coaxes. Oh, how he had missed Mark Lee and his tendency to ramble really fast. Jaemin genuinely thinks Mark could’ve been an idol rapper if he’d auditioned. “Take a minute. Breathe.”

“Ooh, yeah, sorry about that,” Mark apologises sheepishly. “I do that a lot.”

“No worries. Although, it’s true. I have… maybe a week left now.”

Mark’s face falls entirely. His eyes start looking in literally every direction in the room other than at Jaemin, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Making direct eye contact with Renjun’s classic resting bitch face snaps him to his senses, and he clears his throat and, in an attempt to appear comforting, puts on a smile that looks more like a pity-filled grimace. “That’s… not good. Hey, look, today, all your ice cream will be on me, alright? Don’t even worry about it.”

“Mark, you’re gonna get in trouble. I can just pay you--”

“No!” Mark exclaims, then falls back to normal volume. “I mean, it’s the least I can do. You’ve always been a good friend, Jaemin.”

“I-- okay?”

“I’ll pay for your cookies and cream. That’s what you always order, right?” Jaemin nods mutely. “Sorry Renjun, Donghyuck,” He calls to the pair, who are whispering to each other at the back. “But I won’t pay for your ice cream. I’m still broke.”

From behind him, Renjun and Donghyuck groan.

“Mark, I was a model student when you tutored me in high school,” Donghyuck argues. “How could you do this to me, a regular patron, a loyal friend--”

“For all the time you wasted complaining about the crush you never told me the name of, I’d say this is your…” Mark’s eyes flash wickedly, and Jaemin groans even before hearing the punchline. “ _Just desserts_.”

Silence. Jaemin is about to force a laugh so that Mark doesn’t feel too crushed, but he doesn’t need to. Mark immediately hangs his head in shame, face red.

“Okay, sorry. I’ll get your ice cream to you soon.”

Five minutes later, the three sit at their little corner table with economy-sized cups of ice cream and little plastic spoons.

“Donghyuck, I still can’t believe you ranted to Mark about your stupid crush on him in high school,” Jaemin hisses, laughing at the memory. “You literally ranted to someone about himself. Classic.”

“First of all, that was ages ago. Second of all, I was _really_ desperate. Besides, I only need Renjun now,” Donghyuck shows their interlaced fingers, and kisses Renjun’s hand. Immediately, Renjun begins to blush, and Jaemin’s stomach lurches and he pretends to gag.

“Fucking disgusting, ohmygod, get out of my sight. This is worse than the pictures Renjun sent me from Johnny’s Halloween party.”

“Well, you and Jeno aren’t better!”

“Me and Jeno aren’t together!”

That stops Donghyuck short, and he turns to look at Jaemin. His face pales. “Wait… the fuck, you’re not?”

“Um… no. We’re not,” Jaemin says, eyes flitting. Why does he feel like he's just been played?

There’s a pause, and then Renjun lets out a laugh that sounds more like a shriek. “Looks like I win the bet, Lee Donghyuck, you absolute lentil!”

“Wait, you two _bet_ on this?”

“Yeah,” Renjun gloats triumphantly. “Donghyuck bet that you would have figured out your feelings and had the confidence to ask him out, but just kept it lowkey. I bet that you knew how you felt but were too much of a coward to actually ask how he felt because you were scared of ruining the relationship this close to your death. And look who’s right! Me. Pay up, bitchboy,” Renjun puts out his left hand in anticipation, and Donghyuck, with grit teeth and a look of suicide in his eyes, grudgingly slaps a ten-dollar note into Renjun’s outstretched palm.

“Why would you bet on me and Jeno being a thing?”

Now, both Renjun and Donghyuck turn to Jaemin, their faces blank. “He’s kidding, right?,” Donghyuck whispers incredulously into Renjun’s ear. “He’s got to be.”

“I can still hear you.”

“Jaemin, I hate to break it to you,” Renjun says, disappointed but not surprised. “But both of you have more romantic tension than me and Donghyuck, and Jisungie and Lele combined.”

“We do not!” Jaemin scoffs, then pauses. “Wait, hold on, _Jisung_ has a boyfriend? And no one decided to tell me? Who in the world is _Lele_?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Renjun says, tight-lipped. Donghyuck elbows him in the side. “This isn’t about Jisung, so stop deflecting. What this is about is how you and Jeno aren’t together. You like him, don’t you?”

Jaemin shrinks a little bit under Renjun’s gaze. “Well, I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“I take it you’re not planning on telling him?”

Jaemin gulps. No one is scarier than Renjun when he’s giving you The Look, where he stares at you with eyes that would be cute if you can ignore the iciness and stony disappointment behind them. “That wouldn’t be wrong, no.”

“Jaemin.”

“Look, okay!” Jaemin throws his hands up in the air. “It’s too close to… me leaving. I’m not gonna weigh him down for the rest of his life. I’m going to die, and Jeno is not. Jeno is going to emerge from this unscathed and live on to find someone who can give him forever. It will not be me, and that sucks, but what can I do about it? Nothing. So there.”

His two best friends stare at him mutely, then turn to each other and have a short conversation consisting of eyebrow movements and meaningful looks. They turn back to him, Donghyuck slowly shaking his head.

“Na Jaemin, you’re an absolute fool to think that Jeno would come out unscathed from this.”

“He will! I’m just passing by--”

Renjun cuts him off. “Jaemin, what the fuck.”

This shuts Jaemin up quite effectively. If there’s one thing he’s learnt about Huang Renjun, it’s that when he speaks to you with The Tone _and_ The Look, you damn well listen.

“I don’t know how you haven’t realised this yet, but Jeno is as whipped for you as you are for him. He looks at you like you’re the sun and he’s a dying plant, like you hung the moon and the stars in the sky just so he could look up every night and see beauty. Jeno is undeniably taken by you, Jaemin, and this is what you do?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It really is!” Renjun practically screams, eyes bugging out of their sockets in frustration. “It’s called talking instead of repressing your feelings because you’re scared. Jaemin, in the last weeks of your literal goddamn life, why can’t you just let yourself be happy? Sure, it won’t last, but you can’t cite that as an excuse to avoid things. Happiness in these small pockets of time is worth-it no matter what because that’s all you’re getting period. But here you are wasting that shit because you’re afraid.”

“Why does everyone hate me for being afraid?”

“We don’t,” Donghyuck speaks up. His tone is resigned, sad almost. This takes Jaemin aback, because Donghyuck is normally loud and confident and self-assured. Now, he just looks exhausted. He looks like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks, and Jaemin realises that no matter how unruffled Donghyuck always seems, he is still human. He is still just a boy, who’s equally unsure of himself and the future as Jaemin is.

How easy it is, Jaemin realises, to forget that people around you, especially the ones that you love, have other sides to them than what they show you. 

“No one hates you for being afraid, Jaemin. What we’re trying to say is that it’s okay to be afraid. Do you think no one else is feeling scared right now? Because that’s incredibly naive,” Donghyuck sighs. “Renjun and I are scared shitless. What’s gonna happen when you leave? What are we gonna do? Are we gonna work out? We don’t know, and that’s scary. But everyone’s scared, Jaemin.”

“Then how do you get over it?”

“The simple answer is you don’t,” Donghyuck answers succinctly. “You just learn to live with it like the rest of us.”

“...Who are you and what have you done to Lee Donghyuck to make him like this.”

“Funny how you expect the rest of us to have stayed the same when you changed too. And that’s another thing we wanted to address, actually. It’s a little disappointing how you never once asked us: your best friends from the start, literally in walking distance from your house, to help you with such a huge problem.”

“I didn’t want you to judge me, or coddle me. I didn’t want anything to change.”

“Bitch, I’d die before I tried to be nice to you,” Renjun deadpans. “Besides, we’ve already seen the worst parts of you. You used to eat literal pencil shavings in first grade, there is nothing more to judge. We already know you’re on the fast lane to hell.”

“Touché.”

“And change?” Donghyuck says. “Change is inevitable. It’s scary, but we have to live with it. It’s bound to happen, and it’s not always as bad as you think it is. The first flowers in spring; that’s change. When you dyed your hair; that’s change too. It’s not all bad. Besides, beautiful things can come from shitty situations, I mean, look at Renjun and I; after crying to each other about you leaving, we got together.”

“I agree, actually,” Renjun adds. “We helped each other through a bad time, shouldered each other’s burdens so the other would feel less drained. That isn’t emotional manipulation, that’s love. There’s no need for a happy ending for it to still be love. We don’t know what the future holds: whether we’ll fight and break up next week, or next month, or next year; even tomorrow. Frankly, we don't really give a shit. What’s important is that we’re trying, taking it one step at a time and allowing ourselves happiness.”

“And I think,” Donghyuck interjects, tapping his index finger on his chin as he rests his head in his palm. “I think you and Jeno could be that, if you both stopped dancing around each other like children and actually talked about your feelings.”

Jaemin feels gratitude like a shock wave down his core, and he’s silent for a moment. “Thank you. I really needed to hear that, and I’m happy I got to hear it from both of you. I love you guys so much, fuck.”

“Gay,” Donghyuck retorts.

“We love you too, but also Jeno. I’d tell you to suck his dick, but please. _Please,_ ” Renjun pleads. “Put us out of our misery, as well as your own out of the self-induced pity party you threw for yourself. I don’t know how much more of your mutual slow burn pining bullshit I can take before I spontaneously combust.”

“I literally take everything back, both of you can go fuck yourselves.”

“Actually, we’d rather fuck each other,” Donghyuck replies, entirely deadpan.

“Lee Donghyuck, I swear to fuck, I _will_ kill you where you stand.”

“Aw, Jaeminnie, you could always join--”

“NO.”

At sunset, after the trio spend their day catching up, they return home together as the sky begins to turn golden, the occasional rosy streak painting the sky. When Jaemin returns, he watches fondly from a distance as Jeno swings lazily on the hammock out in the yard. He spots Jaemin coming, and he gets off the hammock and stands outside the house. He waves vigorously, and the sky turns Jeno into the embodiment of comfort as it paints his figure in cozy yellows. Jaemin’s heart feels about seven times too large for his body.

( _Maybe this is love_ , Jaemin thinks, stopping for just a moment to mentally capture the moment in front of him. Maybe he really can let love seep into the very last spaces of his life.)

* * *

The last week passes by far too quickly for anyone’s liking, and Jaemin takes Renjun’s advice and does whatever the hell he wants. In this, he also finds little ways to say his goodbyes.

His first course of action is to tear a gaping hole in his wallet by bringing Jisung out for barbecue, seeing as how Jisung _never stops eating_. It’s good to spend time with his brother again, though, and Jaemin realises how much he’s going to miss it. He voices this, and Jisung frowns.

“Jisung, it’ll be fine. Well, maybe not for a while, but promise me you’ll move on?”

“But hyung, who’s going to make ramyeon for me at night? Who’s gonna give me advice about Chenle-- oh shit.”

Jaemin throws his hands up in the air. “What the fuck? Why did everyone’s love life peak when I left? Is this it, is my true purpose in life to suppress this entire town’s hormones?"

Jisung smiles. “It’s because you’re so ugly that everyone just immediately gets turned off by the sight of you.”

“Who’s buying you lunch right now?”

“Ah yes, good golden hyung. Jaemin-hyung is the best!”

Jaemin flicks Jisung in the forehead, and Jisung winces. Jaemin sets down his chopsticks with a sigh.

“But seriously though, you’re going to have to fend for yourself without me. Not just in terms of food or chores or homework, but like. Life, in general. Growing up sucks."

“Hyung, I’m eighteen. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Jaemin _does_ see that. The Jisung sitting in front of him is nothing like Jisung from three years ago; when he’d had a high voice and curly hair and a shy, mousey demeanour. He’s filled out into his tall frame, towering over Jaemin now, and his eyes are deep-set and nose proud. Jaemin has seen this boy through his identity crisis, his coming out; has watched him grow and soar in more ways than he thought possible.

Yet, when he looks in front of him, all he can see is the same tween-age Jisung with the same innocent smile. The one who prefers sentimental animes to shounens and can’t cook to save his life, who gets scared by loud noises and who is slow to anger yet still quick to forgive. The one who comes into Jaemin’s room for advice and a cuddle session whenever he has a bad day.

This is the Jisung he knows, and this is the Jisung he will remember.

Jaemin leans forward to ruffle his brother’s hair. “You’ll always be a baby to me.”

Jisung scowls, but softens. He looks down at his bowl of rice, which is almost completely empty, and his words are quiet. “Honestly hyung,” He takes a deep breath. “It’s going to be hard without you. I won’t ever find anyone in this world that will be anything like you, and after some thinking I’ve realised that that’s okay. It’s my privilege for you to have been in my life anyway, even for just a short period, and I-- I hope you know that I’ll miss you forever, but I’ll move on. Because I know you would want me to live happily instead of in the past.”

Jaemin nearly cries, but he stops himself. Jisung is too much of a serial crier, and Jaemin would rather keep a strong front in front of his baby brother. He smiles.

“Thanks, Jisungie. I mean it.”

There’s a short pause, which both males take to recollect their emotions. Jaemin breaks it.

“So, who’s the boy?”

With that, Jisung goes on a long tangent about the new Chinese family in town and their son, Zhong Chenle, whom he later meets by chance outside the restaurant. He has hair dyed such a loud shade of green he looks like a loveable ball of algae, and the way his eyes sparkle when he sees Jisung is enough to assure Jaemin that Jisung will be in good hands.

He'll be okay.

The next day, he decides to indulge his dad in his fishing addiction, quite literally for the first time since Jaemin was seven years old and became aware enough to know that fishing was lame. They drive out to the docks, and as his father prepares the bait, Jaemin sets up two foldable chairs near the edge. After years of not holding one, the fishing rod feels odd in Jaemin’s hands but he casts the line out to sea.

It’s quiet for a while, and it’s nice. The coastal breeze blows gently into their faces as they wait for the fish to bite. His father has never been too good with words, always a man of consistency and action rather than speech and ideals, and it’s a quality Jaemin admires. He lets his father break the silence.

“You know, I'm not one for the metaphorical, when I used to bring you here often as a child, you were always my lucky charm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we would catch mackerel and flat fish all the time and cook them for dinner, sometimes even a tuna if we were lucky. But, ah, maybe when you left the climate took a downturn, and there’s less now. Of course, there still is, but not as many as there used to be.”

“Oh no. That sucks.”

“When you left for those three months, give or take, it felt like my entire world had taken a downturn. I fell sick quite often. I didn’t know what to make of your note, but I kept it on my nightstand and read it through every night, wondering whether I’d done anything wrong in any way as a father. I wondered if not filing a missing report was really the best thing to do, and that was something your mother and I quarrelled about many times.”

Chest constricting with emotion, Jaemin keeps his eyes on the sea. “I’m sorry,” He mumbles. His father hasn’t always been the most emotionally available, but he’s never failed to be a good father.

“I’m proud of you.”

“What? Why?"

“I’ve watched you grow from a baby that would never stop screaming to an angsty teenager to a man. I’m proud of who you’ve become despite everything that’s happened, and while some of your decisions were indeed questionable, I’m starting to see why you made them. You found yourself in that boy Jeno, and an unfamiliar environment with a pressing problem at the front of your mind all the time. I’m proud of your strength.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Jaemin says, throat sore from holding back his tears. “That means a lot.”

“No problem, son. I’ll never be ashamed to say that you were my son while you were in this world.”

There’s a lilt in the scene, a pocket of time that seems like it could stretch out indefinitely, and Jaemin wants to stay in it forever. It’s broken, however, in five seconds when Jaemin’s father’s fishing line starts shaking vigorously, a fish having caught onto the worms on the hook.

“Oh boy, it’s a big one,” Jaemin’s father says, face crimson and lungs huffing with effort as he furiously turns back the fishing line. Out of the water bursts a fish the size of Jaemin’s entire upper body, with a striking yellow streak on its covering.

“A tuna!” Jaemin’s father declares, delighted, as he unhooks the fish’s jaw and tosses its body into the cooler.. “An amberjack, no less. Those are rare, expensive too. You hardly ever find them on our side of the country.” He turns to Jaemin, and he breaks out into a full-blown smile. “Looks like you’re still my lucky charm, after all.”

When his father looks away, Jaemin cries, and when he asks about it later, he blames it on the blinding sun of that day. He refuses to cry in front of his father, who, despite his ever-patient and accepting nature, somehow becomes even more reticent and awkward in the face of anyone crying.

Lastly, it’s his mother. This time, he doesn’t do anything special: just accompanies her in the kitchen and helping to prepare dinner one night. He used to do this in the past, and it’s still the same: the kitchen smells like tile cleaner and its atmosphere is warm and comforting like a hug. He dices the kimchi, slices the onions and washes the rice as he listens and sings along to his mother’s playlist. At some point, they sweep wide circles around the kitchen in their aprons as they dance to a Frank Sinatra song Jaemin vaguely recognises.

Truthfully, Jaemin’s always been a momma’s boy.

After dinner, they wash dishes together, the mood noticeably more solemn. Perhaps that’s what comes with the nighttime, Jaemin thinks: the darkening of the sky, the quieting of souls to hear our true thoughts and feelings. But there are always stars, and his mother shines exceptionally bright.

“Mom, what’s going to happen when I’m gone?”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll hold you a funeral,” She replies nonchalantly, but the way her voice tightens shows how she isn’t ready to fully embrace the fact that her oldest son will be dead soon. “I’ll give a eulogy, as well as Jisungie, Donghyuck, Renjun and your dad. I guess Jeno as well.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Mom.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Jaemin struggles to find the words. “I mean, like, you won’t fall into depression, right? Insanity? Or have a crisis and quit your job and move to some far out island in the Bahamas? I don’t want that for you.”

His mother sighs, scrubbing a bowl clean. She sets her sponge down, and she looks at Jaemin, who waits expectantly for an answer.

“The truth is, Jaemin, whether we like it or not, life goes on. Yes, when you die, part of me will be missing for god knows how long. I probably will not feel so good for a long time. It’s no fun losing someone who literally shares your heart and blood. But life goes on. I still have a job to do, and so does Dad. Jisung has a boyfriend, I’m quite sure, and a full life ahead of him. We will feel like part of our lives is empty for an indefinite amount of time, and we will miss you and love you so, so much. That will never change.”

She pauses, then sighs resignedly. “But eventually, there will come a morning when I wake up and my first thought is what I want for breakfast instead of you, and that will be both the best and worst day of my life.”

This hits Jaemin like a punch to the stomach. He’d expected the worse: falling into slumps only to never re-emerge from them, packing up their lives and moving because this place has too many memories. Everything he’d seen in movies, essentially. But he couldn’t expect that: life wasn’t that dramatic. Sometimes, it was just cruel in its simplicity.

He ambushes his mother with another hug, and they stay like that for a while.

“Oh, baby boy,” She mutters soothingly, rubbing circles on Jaemin’s back as he begins to cry into her shoulder. He’s much taller than her, but it feels more like she’s protecting him. “Life and death move in different directions, but they have the same concept. We will meet again someday in another life. I can feel it.”

They will, Jaemin thinks. They’ll be alright.

* * *

Day Zero arrives like a shadow.

There are less dramatics than Jaemin thinks. Everyone knows what day it is, but it seems like they’re trying not to talk about it at all. Even though it’s a weekend the air at the breakfast table is completely dead. Everyone stares down at their sandwich, not daring to speak. Jaemin and Jeno have plans at the amusement park; the one place Jaemin and Jeno never made it to because they were both reluctant to go due to the tourist crowd at this time of year.

Jaemin knows what will happen if he tries to avoid death by staying in his room anyway: he suffocates on nothing or chokes on nothing. Nonetheless, he dies. It’s the standard occurrence, and it’s normal for people to avoid that by going out of their way to do the things they love on their Day Zero.

Either way, Jaemin realises Jeno will probably have to watch him die. The thought sits uncomfortably in his stomach.

When they leave the house, he pulls Jisung into a hug that lasts too long and becomes too warm and sticky, but neither seem to mind. Jaemin can feel the tears wordlessly sliding down Jisung’s face like the first day he’d come back, and when he lets go, he ruffles his hair.

“Take care of yourself, Jisungie.”

“You too, hyung.” Jisung manages to get out, voice cracking.

With that, he hugs his parents extra tight. His father’s not one for hugging, but this time he embraces Jaemin like he’s afraid he’ll disappear at this very moment. “Thank you for being my lucky charm,” He whispers into Jaemin’s ear, voice slightly shaky, and Jaemin very nearly has to restrain himself from breaking down on the spot. His mother hugs him lightly and warmly, and she has tears in her eyes when she pulls away and smiles.

“Can we expect you home for dinner?”

They both know that he probably won’t make it back. Jaemin smiles anyway.

“We’ll try our best.”

She quirks up a corner of her lip. “That’s good enough.”

They stand there for a minute, smiling at each other for the last time. Jaemin waves one last time before turning away, tears in his eyes and his throat tightening alarmingly fast. Jeno bows and smiles, and then they walk away.

Jaemin turns around at the gate.

“I love you. Please be happy.”

And then he leaves for the very last time. His family watches him go, and his heart aches.

There are the goodbyes, and then there is the letting go.

They stop by Donghyuck and Renjun’s houses for a moment. Donghyuck is unabashedly bawling, while Renjun is struggling to hold it together. They’re in a three-way group hug when Donghyuck motions for Jeno to join in, and so Jeno does. It’s the four of them, huddled together and not knowing where one’s limbs start and end in the middle of the road. Jaemin wishes they could stay like this.

“Promise me you’ll be good, okay? Take care of yourselves.” Jaemin says, wiping his tears away with his sleeve when he smiles.

“Actually don’t do this, I'm this close to crying.” Renjun chokes, tears already threatening to fall.

“We’ll see you, okay? Go have fun.” Donghyuck plasters on a final smile that could rival the sun in luminosity, and Renjun pats him on the back. Jaemin is walking, but he turns back and he blows them one last playful kiss.

“I love you guys. Always stay the same.”

And then him and Jeno are gone. With every person he says goodbye to, Jaemin feels the gaping hole in him grow bigger and bigger, gnawing at his insides. The only one he hasn’t said his farewell to yet that’s important is Jeno. He doesn't know how he's going to.

They reach the amusement park, and the usual shenanigans happens: Jaemin encourages the idea of (read: forces the idea on Jeno) to buy matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands.

(“Are you sure you’re fine with a Minnie?” Jeno had said, eyeing the headbands apprehensively. “We can just get two Mickeys. They cost the same price. Or, you know, we could just. Not. Get the headbands.”

“Come on, don’t be a loser, Lee Jeno!” Jaemin had grinned brightly. “It’s the 21st century, gender isn’t even real anymore!”)

To Jaemin’s surprise, Jeno is also absolutely terrified of rollercoasters. “They’re so fast, what the hell.” He says in response to their First One, eyes wide. “I feel like I’m about to shit out my pancreas.” He still allows Jaemin to drag him on a few anyway; even if every single time without fail, he comes out on the verge of a meltdown, eyes wild as he swears up and down that he will never allow Jaemin to push him onto a ride ever again.

(He still does.)

For lunch, they have low-quality bingsu (“It’s so sweet!” Jeno groans, grimacing), but good bento boxes from the food court. Jaemin treats both him and Jeno to the Dippin Dots he’s normally too broke to buy, as he figures that since this is quite possibly his last meal he should buy whatever he desires regardless of price. Afterwards, they stave off the more death-inducing rollercoasters, instead choosing things like the teacups ride and the Viking to appease Jeno; who’s starting to look very pale.

Suddenly, it’s sunset and, to both their surprises, Jaemin is still very much alive. (Jeno had expected Jaemin to get mugged or murdered, and Jaemin rebuts by telling Jeno that he once screamed so loud on one of one of the rollercoasters they’d gone on that he’d seemingly astral projected straight to the seventh dimension.)

This time, they make their way over to the ferris wheel, which they’d wanted to go on at the very last minute so they could have an amazing view of the entire park and the sunset. They queue behind two little girls holding grape popsicles, and enter a mint green cart when it’s their turn. It’s just the two of them and a glass window in front of them, so they sit side by side as they watch the orange sunlight stream in. Jaemin rests his hand on Jeno’s, smiling when Jeno doesn’t make to move away and instead intertwines their fingers.

They’ll be alright, Jaemin thinks. This could turn out just fine.

As the golden sunset rises into their view, their cart swings dangerously to the left.

“W-what’s going--”

And Jaemin knows. This is it, his cue to leave.

Their cart swings sharply to the right, then back to the left again. It feels vaguely like the Viking ship ride they’d been on earlier, except much more threatening. Jaemin had seen things like this in the news: a loose bolt left unchecked, a cart drop, lives lost. Not the most romantic way to go, but he guesses it’s better than dropping from a high-speed rollercoaster.

And yet, there is no fear. He’s been expecting this for too long, after all: one hundred days, and here it is. No fear, only grudging acceptance.

_But Jeno?_

Jeno had so much more in front of him, didn’t he? So many sunsets left to see, so many people left to meet, all of them miles better than Jaemin. And yet, in those split seconds, Jaemin cannot remember a single instance when Jeno had told him how many days he had left no matter how hard he tries. Jaemin glances at him forlornly, and Jeno’s gaze is calm, serene, _expectant._

_No._

When he’d met him, Jeno had probably been drinking for his 100th day left, too.

“You knew?” Jaemin’s thoughts slip out before he can rein them back in, and Jeno looks at him. His expression and tone is peaceful. He knows exactly what Jaemin is talking about.

He always does.

“I did. The numbers never lie, do they?”

Something in Jaemin’s heart cracks in half.

“Wh-why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t need to know. I was bitter at first, just like you. No happy ending for me. But then I met you that night, and you were as close to it as I could’ve gotten. I’m sorry for not telling you, but I figured you didn’t need my weight too. I’m at peace with it already, though; told Doyoung when we saw him. Most of all, I hope that in the last hundred days or so, I’ve helped you come to terms with it too.”

Jaemin cannot believe it. Jeno was so _nice_ ; never pushing his burdens onto anyone, always there to lend a helping hand to even a stranger. Through it all, he had suffered knowing his own fate, but still never failed to be a shoulder to cry on for Jaemin.

As the cart’s swings begin to pick up speed, Jaemin stares down at their interlocked hands. It’s now or never: he’s going to die today, die _now,_ in fact; and the whole point of the journey Jeno has accompanied him on was to go without regrets. He would only be betraying the both of them if he didn’t say it.

“Jeno,” Jaemin takes a deep breath.

“This is gonna sound a little crazy,” he starts cautiously, not daring to look Jeno in the eye. “But I love you. I love you so much I would swallow the sun and let it burn me inside out until I am nothing but ash and dust floating among the galaxies if it meant we had more time. I have loved you for a long time, and I will love you until the stars fall and the universe as we know it ceases to exist.”

Jaemin laughs bitterly. “And yes, I know-- I know it’s so fucking _selfish_ of me, but you’ve made this the best 100 days of my life.” Tears stream down his face, sad distributaries contributing to the river of emotion that now flowed free from the deepest recesses of his being. He lifts his head to look at Jeno, whose eyes are misty, lower lip trembling.

“Jaemin,” He starts. “I--”

“No, listen to me, just a bit longer.” Jaemin takes a large gulp of oxygen, but he is still breathless. “You have given me a forever in the last hundred days that can last me till the end of time. And if there’s one thing you can take with you from this life, please let it be that you were loved.” His voice breaks, and his words start pouring out in broken sobs. So this is liberation: nothing left for him to say, no more regrets. All he has left to lose has already been lost, or is to be lost in the next minute or so.

“And I totally understand if you’ve never felt the same, because Lee Jeno, I would let you break my heart over and over again. But until the very end, know that my heart beats for you anyway. So thank you.”

Their cart swings impossibly more to the right, before gravity takes them down with it. Like a stone, they fall silently, and Jeno’s grip grows almost imperceptibly tighter in his. As they fall, the air in their lungs leaves in a unified exhale amplified by the boxed walls of the cart.

And then they hit the ground. The transparent walls of the cart shatter, glass chips showering them as a last blessing on their way out. The cart bounces once, bounces twice, then overturns.

They lie on the floor, pressed against whatever’s beneath them as they face each other, hands still intertwined between them. They are close, so close. Something, probably glass, had cut Jeno’s face at some point, and now crimson oozes out of the wound. In the distance, there are shouts of fear and alarm, but Jaemin watches as Jeno smiles gentle and unhurried, as if they have all the time in the world when really they have none: eyes curling up into half-moons, tears trickling.

In his last moments, Jaemin imagines that Jeno, with his bloody cheek and half-moon smile, is the angel that will take him home.

“Jaemin, can you hear me?” Jeno rasps, voice slipping away as they lay crushed beneath the ferris wheel debris.

Jaemin barely has enough life left in him to nod.

“In our time together, I’ve only kept two secrets from you.”

The only thing anchoring Jaemin to these last moments is Jeno’s grip on his hands; warm and reassuring. Jaemin can feel their pulses beating as one between them like a slowly fading metronome. He hopes Jeno can feel it too.

“One: when I met you, I had the same number of days left too.”

As Jaemin’s eyelids flutter closed, the world begins to shut down, fold in on itself. The colours around him swirl into a tunnel, black with a singular white light at the end of it. The faint shrieks of horror fade into static.

“Two: I love you.”

(Jaemin doesn’t hear the last part.)

**Author's Note:**

> #00299  
> thank u if u made it to the end!! hope you enjoyed this :-))  
> now that reveals are here!! come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dreamsforjeno)  
> kudos and comments always appreciated!! >-<


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